Ask Alice
by VampricFaeryGirl
Summary: Before she was Alice Cullen, she was Mary Alice Brandon. This is her story. Before, during, and after the asylum.
1. Chapter 1: Beginning

**_Ask Alice  
_**  
**Chapter 1: Beginning  
**

* * *

The first time it happened, I was seven years old. Mother had me and my sister, Cynthia, out in the yard, just to keep us as attentive as possible. Cynthia and I held hands as we played in our plain white dresses, as it was Sunday, and we had not yet had the chance to change out of our Sunday best.

My hair was long then. Mother always played with it, enjoyed to shape it prettily, as she loved how much it resembled hers. Cynthia's hair was more like that of our father; still dark, but brown rather than black. Her hair had not quite grown to the length mine had, as she was younger than I. Her hair, her violet-flower eyes, and her smile were to match that of my father, always. Cynthia had a calmer nature, though. I had the wild, care-free heart of our father. Though, I could be as cold-tempered as Mother, if given the chance. Cynthia was far too sweet to ever be mad at anyone for too long. In that way, again, she matched Father.

Mother had finished up with her 'indoor duties,' as she referred to them, and had decided to join Cynthia and I for a chance at relaxation. We hadn't been doing anything of particular interest, dancing, as always, when suddenly my eyes weren't seeing what they should. My mind flashed to a new scene, with such strange faces I had never seen before.

There were many of them—five or six—all with the faces of ghostly angels. They seemed afraid, tired—from the dark circles under their eyes—and were as worn and ragged as Mother after Grandmother Amelia Brandon's visits ended. I heard them speak of unfamiliar things, and they were wearing clothes that indicated that they must be from some different country, because I had never seen anyone wear clothes like they wore—and the females wore clothes too similar to the males for them to have much class. One of them, whose hair was bronze with an accent that proved him to be American, spoke "Bella,"—a name that was unfamiliar to me.

"Bella?" asked Mother. "Mary, who are speaking of?"

"Those people I saw," I explained, "they said her name."

Mother turned as white as a ghost—almost as white as the people I had seen in my mind. Cynthia barely noticed. She released my hand and continued to pounce around the yard in a graceful, but slippery lope.

Mother warned me severely to never say such things, that I was getting too old to play such games. She swore that if I ever pretended to see people again, that she would call Father to give me a rash beating. I didn't want that, so I promised never to tell her about seeing things again. Although, I didn't promise I wouldn't see things again.

When I was thirteen, the war started. The war to end all wars, or so they said.

When I turned thirteen, I found that I had taken a real liking to Caspar Parker, who had a real high status and a large amount of coin to his name. My father worked for his father, and that was how we met. Father took us into the city, where the Parkers lived, and that was how I first met him.

Caspar was polite and smiled at me when he thought no one would see—and I would smile back, whether I thought anyone was looking or not. I was so smitten that I imagined I would marry him someday. Mother with her keen eyes could tell by the way I blushed that my heart raced for him and she had no doubt in her mind that I was a perfect match for him. She said it was my wildness that attracted him; he disagreed.

The one time we had been given time in private, while our father's discussed private business in the next room and Mother scampered away to check on Cynthia, he told me that I was graceful. Caspar said I had the lithe grace of a ballerina. I was so tongue-tied by his kind comment that I blurted out an excuse for my grace. I told him that Mother had been a dancer, before she sprained her ankle, that she had been permanently discharged after that. I told him that she taught me what she knew of dance, that Cynthia and I had practiced dance everyday when we were young; it never mattered if there was music or not.

Mother stormed in, furious at me for mentioning her past. She sent me to my room, and didn't call on me for supper. My stomach rumbled to fiercely—both from lack of supper and from the memory of Caspar's sweet comment—that I didn't get much sleep that night. When I did fall asleep, however, I did not dream of what Mother could have cooked, the meat sauce that had spread its rich smell up to my room, or of Caspar; I dreamed of different names than I knew; I dreamed of a pair of eyes of dark, burgundy, staring at me.

Mr. Parker sent invitation for my entire family to see the ballet in the city the next day. Mother couldn't decline; she loved the ballet; she loved being part of society. With Mr. and Mrs. Parker, Caspar, Juliet (their daughter), Cynthia, Father, Mother, and I, the ballet was a ball. I had never seen a professional dancer, and seeing them move was so inspiring. I was awe-struck by their grace, beauty, and the power that they held inside their sleek frames. I saw tears shine from Mother's eyes, like memories trapped in diamonds, as they rolled down her cheeks. Her smile was radiant for the first time, as far as I could remember. The lines from being a middle-class man's wife, the stress of raising two daughters as the money ran out, and the visits from disappointed relatives—all of it was gone. With the tears, I saw the trace of a woman I had never known, someone who wasn't my mother. I saw the beauty of a girl who could have joined the dancers onstage, drawing all eyes to her. I saw her; and I wanted to be her.

It took only a year to convince my mother, to arrange meetings, auditions, to get the word out about me. The Parkers were of a great help to me. Cynthia was supportive, although jealous. Grandmother Amelia Brandon visited, and though she was normally an old crabapple, she seemed impressed by my efforts. She looked at her daughter-in-law with reverence for the first time in who knew how long.

I met a man, a dancer, who spotted talent, raw talent, and made that talent into trained beauty. He was stern, from what I had heard, and from the scowl that touched his lips. Mr. Parker had arranged a meeting with him, and he said he was impressed by my energy, although he seemed as off-hand and stern as ever. I danced for him, and the scowl faded. His eyes lit up and for a second I thought I saw a trace of a real impression.

Within a year of that, by my fifteenth birthday, in the year 1916, I had been onstage four times. I was always in the back, never the star, but I was there. I was the talent that everyone said had promise. I was the girl who the dancers stared at when I walked into the room. But, above that, I found I was the girl who could make them smile, and take their jitters away before every performance.

I had made a promise to my mother to never share what I saw, but she hadn't made me promise to not tell anyone else. So, as subtly as possible, I warned the other dancers when trouble was afoot. When a runaway dancer's father had come to the audience, I warned her so that she could avoid him when the performance ended. When a friend dancer of mine had replaced another because she was too unmanageable, I moved my friend's shoes before the scorned dancer could sabotage them.

Armand, one of the male dancers, who took my breath away when he somehow managed to lift his partner into the air, was the hardest case. I had seen him sprain his ankle; I knew it was going to happen onstage, with everyone watching. I was afraid for him; I was afraid for his partner too. Both of them seemed at risk, and I couldn't bear it if in a single night both their careers ended. So, I chose to warn him.

It was that decision that I believe changed the course of my life.

He was stretching when I found him alone. I drew a steady breath, trying to muster enough courage to warn him. He looked up at me, catching me with my mouth open and eyebrows plastered into a determined expression.

"Alice, what is with that face?" he asked laughingly, using the name I had asked all my fellow dancers to call me by.

"I have something important to tell you," I announced.

"Then tell me," he encouraged. "I must be going soon, as you know, since we start in little less than half an hour."

"And that is exactly what I am here to discuss with you," I continued. "It is under a most unfortunate circumstance in which I tell you this—and if my mother ever finds out I will never see the light of day again, I swear—but"—I sighed, catching my breath, as Armand straightened and looked at me inquisitively—"I am going to tell you, because I believe that you will not recover if I do not tell you."

He stared at me blankly. "Is this about what Parker said?" he asked coolly.

"Parker," I muttered. I shook my head slowly. He seemed unconvinced.

"Of course not," I said. "Whatever Mr. Parker said is between the two of you. He's a fine man, and I have no intention of getting in his business. All I have to say is that you are going to endanger yourself—and your partner—tonight."

I gently turned to close the door behind me, knowing that I had a long explanation in front of me. When I faced Armand, he was angry. I, on the other hand, was shocked.

"Are you trying to be funny, Alice?" he questioned hotly.

"Do you not believe me?" I guessed. I had a feeling this wouldn't go over well.

"You know about it," he accused. "You know what Parker asked me to do for you. Don't deny it."

I shook my head again, quicker this time. "I don't know anything about it," I assured him.

"You mentioned that I am going to injure my partner tonight, Lauren," he reminded me. "So you must know. Are you here to tell me not to? Or are you selfish enough that you wish to put future here above her safety?"

"I don't have any idea what you are talking about, Armand," I insisted. "I wish Lauren the best; she is a wonderful dancer. That's why I'm here; to make sure she's safe—that both of you are."

He fumed silently for a minute, but there was no arguing with my own expression, which was the epitome of self-confidence.

"You really have no idea?" he asked quietly, in a rough, but polite tone.

"No, I don't," I repeated. "I am only here to warn you of an impending danger. Now I know this must sound insane,"—and he did roll his eyes—"but I assure you, Armand that I am the picture of sanity, and that this is no joke. In all seriousness, I have to tell you that tonight you will sprain your ankle, and drop Lauren, right in the middle of the performance."

"We've practiced many times together, so why would I drop her?" he rationalized. "This is a simple step; I know its insides, outsides, topsides, and downsides. I know everything about it. In fact, we're old friends. I'm not going to drop Lauren."

"But you will," I stated.

His smile faded; he had thought I was joking still. I remained motionlessly, holding my petite frame as tall as possible to keep authority in my presence. I was one of the smallest dancers, usually casted at the part of child or fairy, since I was less than five feet tall. Armand was a head and a half taller than me; it was hard to be confident when he was so much older and taller.

"Why are you saying this, Alice?" he wondered. "Have you really lost your mind or do you know something I don't?"

"I know a lot that you don't, Armand," I added slyly. "But this isn't the best time to explain all that."

"I must ask you something in confidence," he requested, stepping closer.

I nodded. "Of course; I won't tell a soul and I'll answer you as truthfully as I am able."

He came close to me, resting his hand on my head. His dark eyes narrowed, testing me, to see if he could read in my eyes if I was as trustworthy as I had said. He combed his fingers through his dark hair, glancing cautiously at the closed door behind me. He glanced at me, then back at the door, and then at me again. He pulled my further into the room, and then inclined his head so that our faces were close.

"Does Parker have a plan to force an injury on me?" he whispered.

"I wouldn't know," I gasped. "He's never been anything but kind to me, so I doubt that he would do something so unthinkable."

"He threatened me, saying I must drop Lauren tonight," he confided hoarsely. "He swore that if I did not end her career to increase your chances, he would end mine quickly."

I was appalled. This was the man I had intended to be my father-in-law. I knew he had influence and money, but I never suspected him of earning his power through dark politics.

"That can't be true," I mumbled.

"But it is," he insisted. "It's as true as your name is Mary Alice Brandon, and not just plain old Alice Brandon as you tell everyone it is."

I bit my lip. "Yes, my initials are M.A.B.," I admitted. "But how can I believe that someone so kind is actually someone to cruel?"

"I'm sorry, kid," he sighed. "But it is the truth."

I closed my eyes. I couldn't bear to picture Caspar's father as a man who would threaten Armand, to injure Lauren just to get me ahead.

"All I know is that you are going to sprain your ankle tonight, Armand," I recited, trying to hide my shock. "So you must be careful."

"I will," he promised.

"And I will do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen," I assured him.

He nodded.

There was a tap on the door. Both of our heads swung around to see the door open. Our bodies flew apart, as if we had been conspiring something wicked rather than planning to save Lauren.

"I was told you were in here," Caspar smirked, entering the room. "I know there isn't much time, but I have some important news for you."

I smiled, seeing the man I was so smitten with. Although I was only fifteen, and he was four years older than I, already working a right and proper job, when he looked at me I felt like age didn't matter. I was as old as I needed to be and perfect because I was reckless and filled with youthful ideas. The warmth that touched my cheeks when he smiled just so was enough to last a lifetime.

I stepped lithely on my toes, racing toward him.

"What's the big news?" I asked. "Anything that will brighten my day? There's been an awful amount of clouds today, and I sure need a silver lining."

"Sure will," he swore, putting his hand over his heart. "I swear on my life that this will be the second best news you have ever heard."

"Only second best Caspar Parker?" I teased. "Where's the first best?"

"That comes after tonight's performance," he said. His bright, gray eyes seemed to sparkle at the very idea of the news, getting me excited.

"So where's the great unveiling?" I mocked. "Or are you not going to give me any news at all?"

"Calm, Mary," he chuckled, touching my cheek softly with his hand. "I only wanted to tell you in private."

He took my hand and led me out of the practice hall. He brought me into the manager's office, a place I had so rarely been. The rare times were to pay for all the many rehearsals, and all the other bows and horns that had made me into the dancer I was. That, and to receive the few payments I had earned from amazing performances. Sometimes it paid more than roses to be in the show. (Although it was fun when the audience tossed them onto the stage, being in love with the leading lady, always.)

Caspar closed the door behind us, still keeping my hand in his. He faced me, beaming with the pride of the news he was about to share. I smiled intently back at him, although I was impatient to find out.

"Congratulations, Mary," he said. "You are going to be the star from now on. You're the lead. The last girl—the one who is performing tonight—she's had some troubles and has to leave for a while. Due to certain events, you're the next in line."

But his voice faded at the end, and I didn't quite catch it. In the loudest tone and the greatest clarity of sight, I saw Lauren just leaving the theatre. She was with her husband, and her cousin, Valarie. They were laughing, at first, and then, went quiet. Their eyes turned to see two broad-shouldered men in dark clothes, with hats on that shadowed over their faces…

* * *

_"Mrs. Parousky," one of the men said. He was lodged in their way, so that they couldn't pass. "We have come with an offer." _

_"I wouldn't refuse it," the other suggested. "It could mean all of your deaths."_

_"What do you want?" Mr. Parousky, Lauren's husband, asked._

_"You can take our money," Valarie cried. "Just don't hurt any of us."_

_"We do not want your money," the first snapped. "We want Lauren Parousky to not come back to the ballet."_

_"What are you talking about?" Lauren demanded. "I could never do that. And this can't be about how well I did out there. I could hear from their applause how wonderful I did. It required standing ovation, in case you weren't paying much attention, sir, to congratulate me."_

_"Lauren," Mr. Parousky hushed, squeezing his wife's arm tightly._

_"We do not care about how well you did," the second one scoffed. "We only care that you quit. There will be another to take your place."_

_Lauren's face paled. "Is this about Alice?" she whispered. "About what Mr. Parker told Armand to do?"_

_The two dark-clothed men shifted, and looked stiffly at each other._

_"This is most certainly about Alice, Mrs. Parousky," the first one admitted reluctantly. "How you seem to know about that, I am uncertain. But, no matter. What is your choice, since you know about our offer already?"_

_"I won't," she said, stiffening her lips. "I refuse to cave into you, sirs. You or Mr. Parker."_

_The two looked at each other again. Valarie grabbed hold of her cousin's arm and Lauren held her husband's hand tighter. Mr. Parousky put his arm behind Lauren's back, as if to steady her._

_"Final decision?" the second man asked, a smile creeping over his lips as he spoke._

_Lauren nodded stiffly._

_"Good," the second man laughed. He lifted his arm and held out a small, but deadly looking gun. His finger twitched eagerly at the trigger._

_"Goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Parousky, Ms. McGivney," the first man smirked. "Mr. Parker and family send their regards."_

_The shots echoed as they fired. The three innocents fell, one by one, as they tried to run, tried to struggle, tried to save one other, but nothing helped_.

* * *

"Mary?" Caspar called, from somewhere far away. "Mary?" He was frantic when he called now. "Mary? What's wrong?"

I gasped and ripped my hands away from the desk. They had been so tightly holding to it that the circulation had begun to cut out.

"Mary!?"

I looked at him, wide-eyed and stricken so tried and frightened by the force of the vision I had had, that I couldn't talk.

This day was getting worse and worse, just as the sky outside got darker and darker, as if the nighttime was exposing all the lies in my life.

"Do you know why Lauren is giving up the stage, Caspar?" I questioned icily.

He didn't know how to answer, or maybe—I hoped—he honestly didn't know the answer.

"Do you know what your father is going to do?" I demanded.

"Mary, my father isn't going to do anything to Lauren," he swore.

I gritted my teeth. "I never said he was."

He noticed the trap I had set. He was the one to connect the idea of Lauren leaving with his father so quickly. I saw the panic in his eyes; there was no denying the truth I saw there.

"Are you in on it?" I raged. "Did you ask for this?"

"For you," he cooed, taking my hands, and pleading with me, his eyes too honest.

I ripped my hands away from him. "How could you?" I wailed. "How could you plan to murder her? Did you really think that sort of cruel game would impress me, Mr. Parker?"

His jaw tightened. He grabbed my wrist, and his fingers constricted tighter and tighter, so that it hurt.

"Let go of me!" I hollered. "Caspar! You're hurting me."

His grip loosened. "Mary, I want to explain things to you, to explain what's really happening," he reasoned. "If you listen to me for just five minutes, oh I swear you'll forgive me this."

"I'm not so sure," I muttered under my breath.

"Just don't tell anyone," he begged. "I will owe you my life, Mary, as long as you keep this secret. You can't tell anyone what my father has done."

"The only thing I know of him is,"—I cut off, though, because my eyes clouded over again. By Caspar's touch, and the fresh memory of Lauren's upcoming sudden death, my eyes saw something else of Mr. Parker.

* * *

_"Parker," laughed a stout man in dark, fancy threads that only the most elegant of the rich wore. He was not of America, as his thick accent proved. "Thanks to your supplies, we'll be ready in no time, I promise you that." _

_"So long as you give me what I was promised," Mr. Parker uttered._

_"No worry there," the stout man bellowed, taking a slow, thorough whiff of his cigar. "Your business, my business—we work together well. Both of our fortunes are building quite nicely. I told you that inconvenient people are easily taken care of."_

_"How right you were," Mr. Parker agreed. He was looking at the newspaper, smirking at an article about an old investor, one who had refused to invest in one of Mr. Parker's companies, in an earlier year_.

* * *

My heart pounded and my head reeled as my vision cleared once again to reveal Caspar's face, that what I had seen was another glimpse into what was to be.

"Your father is going to kill—oh, his name was—Mr. Curran, right?" I blurted.

Caspar's eyes widened. "H-he mentioned it," he stammered. "How do you know about these—?"

"It doesn't matter," I said. "What matters is what your father does."

"But he wouldn't. I know him, Mary. He does what he has to, and nothing more."

"But he will kill him," I seethed. "And I can't allow that to happen. So long as I live and breathe, I will not let your father kill Lauren or Mr. Curran."

"You don't even know Mr. Curran," Caspar argued. "How can you stand between my father and some old man who can't mind his tongue?"

I blanked. "What do you mean, 'can't mind his tongue'?"

"He's been advising other investors not to count on my father's businesses," Caspar explained slowly, reading my expression cautiously. "Because he heard of my father's…less than orthodox methods of dealing with the dirtier side of good business."

"That's all?" I retorted. "You kill a man because his has a conscience? How can you agree with that?" I took his hands and stared pleadingly up at him. "I thought your father to be a respectable man, and you to be as gifted with kindness as with dashing looks, but have half a mind to end our charade right now."

"What charade?"

"If you are half the man I think you are, you will end whatever your father has planned for the murders of Lauren Parousky and Mr. Curran," I demanded. "Or else, I cannot love you as you expect of me."

His eyes, once beautiful to me, were torn. I could read in them his struggle to say yes and obligation to say no. I waited, and watched for any sign of the man I had fallen so strongly for. But, as the seconds ticked by, I lost him. All I could find were the physical reminders. Just the eyes, his light hair, and his open expression.

"I can't," he said finally, weakly, but decisive.

I sighed and closed my eyes. My heart slowed its beat, and the anticipation that had heated my insides vanished. I opened my eyes to face the stranger I had once loved.

"Then I can't do this," I replied. I released his hands and stalked out of the room.

I raced to find Lauren, to find Armand—to warn them, if they would let me. I wasn't sure quite where they would be, since the hour of opening the show was so close. Would they still be rehearsing? Or would they be already behind the closed curtains, ready to show their final finale?

As far as I was concerned, I wasn't going to let this be their last night. I was going to ensure that Mrs. Lauren Parousky didn't dance her last duet tonight.

It took me forever and a day to find them, but I did. They were lined up behind the curtain. I rushed to meet them, onstage. I knew I wasn't allowed to walk to meet them, but I ignored as the other dancers yelled at me for interrupting their line, just so that I could sneak up to Armand and Lauren.

"Alice?" Armand recognized the worry in my expression. "What's wrong?"

I looked warily at Lauren. "Does she know?"

Armand nodded. "Everything…and I repeated our conversation to her," he answered.

"Good," I said, relieved. "But there's more now." I paused. "Someone…is planning to kill you, Lauren."

She laughed. "What kind of game are you playing here, honey?"

"No game, Lauren," I insisted. "I'm…well, I can see things that will be."

Her face paled. "Are you being serious? Or just pulling my leg?"

I shook my head solemnly.

"This is dead serious, Lauren," I continued. "Tonight, after the performance, you, your husband, and your cousin—Valarie, right?—you are all going to get shot outside the theatre. I had to warn you, to stop you, before it happened."

"What are you talking about?"

"I can see what will be," I rephrased. "I know that it is going to happen, and I know that Armand is going to drop you tonight when he lift's you—and that he's going to sprain his ankle—and that it doesn't matter how extraordinary you are tonight; someone wants you dead."

"Who?" she whispered.

"I don't know," I lied. "But it is very important that you do not leave by the back entrance, and that you leave with the crowd, and not after. Got it?"

She nodded her head slowly.

I turned to Armand, who was staring at me like my head was on fire. "Don't hesitate," I warned. "Turn right, not left, no matter what the right choreography is. You can catch up to the right place when the moment is right."

"Alice, I want to believe you, even though this is crazier than this war we're in," Armand muttered. "I know there's conspiracy and smoke overseas, but I like to think that there's nothing wrong over here."

"There is something wrong here, Armand," I admitted reluctantly. "But I have every intention of fixing it, if I can."

He released a long, tiresome sigh. I waited. Lauren waited. Whatever his decision was, I knew it would alter Lauren's decision for the better or for the worse.

"I'm doing this for you, kid," he warned me. "If anything bad happens, I'm blaming you."

I smiled. "Thanks."

"Now, get offstage, I can hear them settling down on the other side," Armand ordered.

I quickly waded through the lines of dancers again, and made my way out of the view. I still wasn't ready for my part. I rushed to the dressing room, where my tutu and outfit were waiting for me. I received a scolding from the dance master, the costumer, and a stern look from the other ballerinas from my group.

I lined up with them waiting for my turn in the spotlight.

When the show ended, we celebrated with smiles, as always. Save for me, for I worried my hands and prayed the good Lord that Lauren would make it out alive. I had been right about Armand, and he had gone right, just as I had asked, but what about Lauren? Were my efforts in vain? Was her fate inevitable? Or had I managed to save her?

Caspar and his family were waiting with my family as I came out to meet them. I didn't acknowledge him any more than courtesy required. I didn't acknowledge his father at all. I respected Mrs. Parker and Juliet, but I didn't mind their family more than that. I engaged with my family and was relieved to go home with them. Caspar's ashamed, pleading eyes had become too much for me to bear.

I was restless that night. I tossed in my bed, while Cynthia's muffled snores sounded beside me. Nights like those always made me wish I had my room all to myself. I had an inkling that Cynthia would not be so kind as to keep silent if I chose to sneak out, to call of Armand or Lauren, so see how both of them had fared.

But I couldn't wander off, so I remained in my bed, dreadind the coming day. Never in my life had I wanted to see the sun as much as I wished it would never dawn.

When it was finally time to rise, and Mother attempted to force me into calling on Caspar, since he had already tried to call on me (but I had refused to see him). I would not see him though. I would not tell of his father's dark deeds, but I would not see him. That was the deal I made myself. He knew this; so why would he call? I was not going to buckle under the pressure; I would shun him as long as needed before he gave up on me.

As it turned out, it took weeks before he stopped calling on me. But, by that point, it didn't matter.

Although my father and I had never been especially close, we had loved each other as deeply as any father and daughter would. When the day came that he was forced into the war, called upon to fight for our freedom, I nearly crumbled. I hugged him as tightly as I could, trying not to squash Cynthia in the process. When he was gone, I cried for days, while I held my mother and her quivering frame. I took care of Cynthia for days while Mother recovered from her worry. When at last she did recover, I took my turn to fall into a wholly other mess of despair. I stared at the walls of my room, starving myself, for I felt no need to be hungry. For the more I worried over him, the more I would see him, see what was to happen to him. I watched as he murdered soldiers unwillingly, as the ground around him exploded, as those he had been smiling at one moment were so suddenly gone.

It got so bad that Mother came up one day, to let the light in for the first time in days. Cynthia had become frightened of me, and frightened of the things I mumbled in my sleep, so that she refused to sleep in our room anymore. She stayed at the door when Mother entered, her worried eyes fixated on me. Her hair had grown long, and she was beginning to take on the shape of a lady, just as I was. She was getting taller than me.

Mother questioned me on what I had been dreaming of, of the nightmares that had slipped from my lips. I told her reluctantly, that I was worrying over father. She assured me that he was fine. I said he wasn't; that she would never know how far from right she was. In fact, she was the far-left.

Mother said I was silly, that there was nothing to worry about, but her reassurances were directed at Cynthia more than I. For I was sixteen, and I knew how to read Mother when her worries encrouched her eyes so. Adults who hid their emotions were just as easily read as a child's, whose eyes were open and honest.

"The things I have seen, the things I have seen," I began to mutter.

Mother's eyes widened. "No, not you," she whispered.

I rolled my head toward her. "I knew you were going to say that," I said. "But I don't know why."

Visions of Mother's worried visits to my room had been wedged in between visions of my father's horrific world. This was the one I had been waiting for though.

"Your grandmother, my mother," Mother choked out. "She saw things too. She was killed for it, Mary. So don't you dare go there. Don't you dare lose yourself to whatever you are seeing. Demons are sending you visions, straight out of hell. Ignore them."

"I can't ignore them," I argued, feeling frustration crumple my brow. "Father is facing horrible things! I need to watch out for him; I need to know if he's safe."

"You promised!" she reminded me. "You promised me to never mention what you've seen!"

"But Father! What if soemthing bad happens to him?" I shouted.

"We'll hear about it then," Mother sobbed. "I can't lose both of you at once. I can't raise Cynthia alone, Mary. I need you to come back to your senses." Her eyes pleaded with me, and I felt guilty for abandoning her, but I couldn't abandon Father.

I closed my eyes. "I'm sorry," I mumbled through my dry lips. "I have to know if he's safe."

"He'll survive," she promised me. "This war will end."

I jerked my head toward her and opened my eyes. "Yes," I agreed hastily. "It will end; I've seen it. But where does Father fit into that outcome? I haven't found him yet. _I need to know if he's safe_!"

And immediately, my mind was pulled backward, upward, thrust into a new setting. I smiled as I saw Father, but the feeling washed away when I saw the blood pooling around him. Another shot was fired, and he dropped to the ground. Soldiers ran around him, pushing forward, although they were ragged and weak. Father fell and didn't get back up. His grip loosened, and his muscles went slack. I couldn't bear to watch, but I found that I had to. I found that I had to watch hours of torture.

My vision let me go, and I escaped to a worse scene. There was a doctor, a priest, the Parkers, and my mother surrounding me.

"She's awake," the doctor announced in surprise.

"Thank heavens," Mother sighed.

They all looked so relieved. Seein their joy, it reminded me that I wasn't allowed to tell them what I know knew for certain. My vision was blured by burning tears. I wiped at the tears, and the cold sweat on my face. I sat up and hunched over and began to weep.

"Mary, what is it?" Mother asked in concern.

"Is there pain?" the doctor demanded.

"No," I sobbed. "Not the kind that you can fix, sir. Not that anyone can fix."

"Then what is wrong?" Mother scowled. "You should be pleased that you finally snapped out of that fit you were having. You were panting something horrid, and your eyelids were fluttering quicker than a hummingbirds wings."

I moved my arm from in front of my eyes and made eye contact with her. It took some effort to steady my lips, but when I did, I was ready to tell her, despite my promise.

"He's dead."

Mother's eyes were wider than I had ever seen them. The doctor was puzzled, as were Caspar, and Mr. Parker. Mrs. Parker looked astounded and ashamed to even know me, as if I was insane, and not grieving.

"Who is dead?" the priest questioned.

"My father," I answered, as my lip trembled again. I wiped my eyes. "Or at least he will be," I corrected. I glanced out the window, seeing the sun set. I knew the sun set had been earlier where he was. "He will be in an hour or so."

The priest gaped at me, and then my mother. "So it is true," he gasped. "Your daughter really can see things of the future, as you said. Her visions really did put her in such a state."

"Don't be ridiculous," the doctor contradicted. "Her mind is trying to project what she believes will happen. Her reaction, and the coma she was temporarily in proves it. Mrs. Brandon, I am sorry to say that your daughter has lost her mental capabilities. I don't know to what extent, but there is obvious damage. We may have to send her...away...for treatment."

Mother gasped and her hands flew to cover her mouth.

I understood what they were saying. My tears of sorriw turned quickly to tears of anger.

"I am not crazy!" I screamed. "My father is dead! I saw it! I've seen what Mr. Parker planned to do! I know you want to put me into that place, but I can't go! Don't make me go!"

Mr. Parker's face contorted, and he looked at Caspar, who glanced nervously at the ground. Mrs. Parker eyed her husband coolly. Mother didn't seem to know where to look. The priest sighed heavily, muttered soemthing to my mother, and then was gone. The doctor wrote a few things down, and then turned to my mother.

"I think I know where to put her," he said.

"No, you can't," Mother objected. "Not Mary."

"I'm sorry," he said again. "This is best for her."

"No! I'm not crazy!" I wailed. I jumped from the bed I was in. I ran for the door. I realized I wasn't in my room again, and was unsure of where I was going. But I ran to the door, only to be caught by some muscular doctor who wrestled me back into the room.

"Let me go!" I ordered. "This is not how you treaty a lady!"

"Would an insane person say that?" Mother challenged.

"She's not yet snapped," the doctor rationalized. "I hope to keep her from reaching that stage."

Mother's face crumpled in defeat.

"This is best for her," he repeated. "This is best for your whole family. I'm sure she'll be cured by the time your husband comes home."

I screamed. They all stared. But I knew Father was never coming home. If I was to be cured from something that was incurable, I would never be able to go home.

* * *

**Review/comment, please. Thanks! Next chapter: The Asylum will introduce the vampire who turns Alice.**


	2. Chapter 2: The Asylum

They tried to make me go to rehab but I said "No, no, no!" (Sigh.) They didn't listen to me.

* * *

Chapter 2: The Asylum

In three hundred years, one can lose faith in the human species. Prisons and school houses were two of the institutions I despised most. Some days they claimed to be educational. They paraded around saying that they could teach right from wrong, and prove and all things, especially those of evil nature, had a consequence. Being alive for three hundred and twenty-six years proved to me that not all things of evil nature were punished; my existence was the exact definition of that proof.

I had learned the tricks of living through each passing century and found each more strict than the last. Everyone's names were on paper, both the poor and rich. Histories were marked down…although those seemed to still be of only the rich and important. Few histories were written of a man who did not leave an impressive mark on the world.

In this century, of the year 1918, the World War ended. There was rejoicing, there was grieving, but most of all, the emotion was relief. There was homecoming, but there were burials. Some didn't know what to feel. I had no loved ones involved, for all my relatives had died centuries ago. I had lost track of the cousins, finding no interest in watching the family tree grow and spread its branches. I had made few friends in my strange immortal life, so I didn't feel the pain of losing them either. I hadn't been called on to enter the war, for my name was not on any papers. I only had my job at the asylum due to some forgery. No government knew my real ancestry.

I had begun my work at the asylum for many reasons. One reason was because it was a place where you could see both extremes of human emotion—foolish, uncontrollable happiness and pitiful, weak, depression.

The second reason was because I wanted to help them, as best I could. I had some knowledge of medicines and the medical practices of being a doctor, but I knew I wouldn't be able to control myself in a hospital. There was too much blood. So, I helped those whose minds were ill, rather than their bodies.

Some days I reasoned with myself that I was helping because I was bored; the life of an immortal was not the most full-filling. Other days, I knew that, if I was being honest with myself, I was doing it for Esmera, my long lost wife. She learned piety, kindness and charity before her time. And she had radiance in her eyes. And she was the loveliest woman I had ever laid eyes on. In all my years, I had never seen her equal. There had been many beautiful, radiant women, if I was honest with myself, but none matched her. Her dark hair, dark eyes, soft skin, and a smile that seemed to hold secrets, ones that I wanted to take from her, one kiss at a time.

But, luck had not been with me. My Esmera was gone.

I was vampire now; I was immortal; I was lonely. Talking to the patients, trying to make sense of their insanity entertained me, as wicked as that was. But finding pleasure in their twisted words was only the third worst of my crimes.

Second was my blood lust, and how I handled it. I took those patients who were killing themselves from their thrashing, those whose lips could no longer form words and their stares stared nowhere real, and I sucked from them the blood that sustained me. I found no guilt in killing those who were already more dead than alive.

That was until I met her. My worst crime was how I treated her, above the rest. She was in there wasn't she? Wasn't she just as crazy as them? But she didn't talk like them; she had some reason to her speak. When her body shook and she stared at the door before anyone entered…she intrigued me. She always knew when I was coming, and she told me so. She smiled at me, weakly, for the shock treatments had left her so frail. Thankfully, she was calm enough not to earn more shock treatments and wise enough not to mention any of her intuitions to anyone but me so there was no reason to continue the torture. Those who were wild and declared seeing monsters and shadows of the future were given the more frightening therapy.

She had asked me to call her Alice, so that she could be reminded of her days as a dancer, when she was happy. She said her first name brought her only memories of pain, of betrayal. I honored her request, and cringed whenever I heard a nurse or doctor call her by the name 'Mary'. Was I the only one to notice the sting in her eyes when she remembered her past? Did they really think that someone locked in here would want to remember why they were sent here?

But the most shocking thing about Alice wasn't her sanity, but the way she spoke. Tired and drained, she still had more energy than a ball of flame. Her smile sent electricity flying through the room. The nurses smiled when they knew it was their turn to visit her, to hear what comment she would have on how they did their hair, or wore their uniforms, or even how pretty they looked. She would ask for news of the outside world, and they would gladly give it to her, knowing that it wouldn't harm her.

Of course, there was a downside. Sometimes they came in just to deliver news and she turned her head away, interrupted their speech, and said she had already heard it. The nurses gossiped about it; they thought her eerie way of knowing things was what convinced the doctors she needed to stay. But I knew that it was two things. One, it was their pride, two, it was their own psychosis.

The doctors, most of them, all had good intentions. They wanted to help, but they also wanted to be proved right. They wanted the next break-through. The war was over, but there were still more reasons to rejoice when a sick family member returned home at last.

However, there were others of their kind who had poisoned minds. They took advantage of their female patients. I had tried to accuse and punish those who acted on their sickened fantasies, but legally, I had no proof. So, I stalked them at night, and murdered them before they acted again.

Unfortunately, that left the asylum with few doctors. The sick inside the walls needed their help, their medicines, their break-through ideas, so I couldn't kill them all. I allowed the good doctors to live, to keep their morals, and I allowed the doctors whose minds were dark to live only if they helped more than they hurt.

Some had their eyes on Alice. She was beautiful, even in her frail state. Her hair—which had been dark, long, and beautiful, like my Esmera's—had been shaved, as was custom of all patients. She had been bald when I first met her, and she had been ashamed of it. The nurses let her hair grow out, to keep her from depression, but she had a seizure, and a complete mental break-down. From what I heard from the gossiping nurses, she had grabbed a nurse and warned her that she was going to be hit by a car. The nurse left that night, and, just as Alice had predicted, was killed in a car accident. The other nurses were wary of any Model T. after that. Alice's head was shaved again, to remind her again to not mention when she saw things—things that they told her were untrue. Myself, I wasn't convinced.

Even now, as I walked toward her room, chart in hand, and syringe hidden, I knew she didn't deserve to be here. In my long, extended life, I had seen many things to prove that the strange was completely possible. I felt with a burning conviction that that was the case with Alice Brandon.

I knocked on her door, out of curtsey rather than warning. I was sure she already knew I was coming, and she wouldn't be able to hear the knock anyway (although she swore she did). I opened the door, but, for a second, even with my keen eyes, I didn't see her. I heard her heart beat, so I wasn't worried—at first. But her breathing was shallow. I traced my eyes around the room and found her figure, caved into to corner, curled into a ball. Her skin looked so pale—white as mine.

"Alice? It's Charoum," I murmured. She didn't stir—instead, her breath stopped.

I stepped forward, worry crumpling my brow. Usually, she jumped up the instant I came into the room. What would cause her hesitation?

"Are you feeling sick today, Alice? Is there anything I can do?" I continued, stepping slowly toward her. "I know it's been a rough week, being that Nurse Aurania didn't listen to that sound advice you gave her. I hear she's going to recover from that bee sting. As soon as it was mentioned that you suggested that she might be allergic, they figured out what to give her. She's entirely stable."

I stopped when I had reached her, setting my things on the floor and sitting behind her. With any other patient, this would be considered dangerous protocol. Not dangerous for me, of course, since I was indestructible, but for most patients such near contact was disturbing. Alice preferred close contact. In this moment though, she cringed away from me. With her back to me, it was hard to tell if it was because of the cold I brought with me or because she knew that I was here to inject her with the poison that the doctors referred to as 'medicine'.

"I'd never hurt you," I promised, gently laying my hand on her shoulder. She cringed away, but let me settle my hand there. "I am here to protect you, I swear. I'm not even going to use the syringe today. You don't need it." I paused when I felt her body relax. "To be honest, I don't think you ever needed it."

Suddenly, she hoisted her body up swiftly, leaning against the wall, her eyes studying me closely. She narrowed them and stared into my eyes. The dark circle under her eyes told me that she hadn't slept all night. They were so much darker than usual, a grey-purple color, too. A lash of guilt hit me. I hadn't checked on her last night as I did every other night. I had been assigned work in another wing.

Alice's lips twisted into a content smile. "Your eyes are so bright today, Mr. Colopatiron," she commented cheerily, the sound barely audible. "It's as if I have the sun placed right before me, even when in this awful dark cell."

I smiled. Even in her tired state, she was a bundle of energy.

Her hair was covering almost all her head. I was pleased they were allowing her enough dignity to have hair again. Although there was hardly enough to count as a lady's hair, it was at least past the bald stage. Maybe if they released her within a year, she could pass as a pretty young lady, instead of an escaped asylum victim.

"And it is so nice to hear your voice today, Mr. Colopatiron," she said in a weak voice, so that I required the best of my hearing to make it out. Her voice was more of a breath than actual sound.

But when I worried over that sign, I worried not for her health. The tone of her breath—her voice—it wasn't out of weakness of health. It was fear. Something terrible had frightened her. It had to be terrible, because I knew Alice too well by now to think it was something made up in her own mind. I jumped to the conclusion that she had seen something straightaway.

"Alice, is something about to occur?" I asked wearily, hoping it wasn't something that would get her into more trouble.

"Yes."

I closed my eyes and rubbed my right brow. "Does it affect someone you know?"

"Yes."

"Does it affect you, Miss Brandon?"

I was trying to put together a plan to convince her to not tell another soul about what she had seen coming, to save her from another shock treatment. Even as she spoke, I was playing out conversations in my head to make her keep silent.

"It most certainly does," she replied, with a little more enthusiasm. "And I was terrified to bits when I saw it. I hardly slept all night."

I opened my eyes to examine her eyes again. "I can see that."

She leaped from the floor and crossed the room. "I think it's the second worst thing I've ever faced in my short life, Mr. Colopatiron," she confessed. "I can hardly think straight about it. But I know my heart won't recover this time. That's a certain fact. But what else will come of it, is still unknown to me."

"Please, don't tell anyone this time, Alice," I begged, moving too quickly to stand beside her.

She didn't turn her head. She didn't seem to notice that I had moved at a pace too impossible for a human. She simply sighed and smiled broader.

"Relax, Mr. Colopatiron, this isn't a sort of secret that the world needs to know about," she teased. "This is a sort of secret that needs to be kept secret to the exact definition of the word."

"What could have seen Alice?" I puzzled aloud. "Normally, you want to warn others when something is about to occur. What's so different about this? I thought you told me you didn't believe in secrets?"

There was a split-second of silence. She partly turned her head, just enough so that I could make out her expression clearly. She was a mixture of uncertainty and nervousness. It was so unusual to see her uncertain, that my own expression changed to shock.

"I did say that, Charoum—if I have right to call you by your name, sir," she articulated, eyes on me as I nodded to give her permission. "I believe that secrets are only meant to destroy trust around intimate friends and common people. But there are some secrets that should never be spoken aloud."—she spun on her bare heels to face me with absolute trust and pride in her eyes—"In this case, Charoum, I assure you that I do not spill the secrets of others. This is not an accident waiting to happen, and it is of no other danger to innocent lives, so I swear no one will know."

"You're seeing secrets now, Alice?" I chuckled. "You said you saw things—events—can you read minds now?"

She giggled. "Why, that would be impossible! Why would it cost a penny to hear thoughts when I could hear them for free? Hardly worth the cost."

Her expression switched in the blink of an eye. Her smile dropped to a frown.

"Won't you tell me, Alice?" I pleaded.

She shook her head. "Do what you came in here to do," she directed. "And then you should leave."

I wanted to press the issue, but the circles under her eyes reminded me that she needed time to rest.

"I just came to check up on you," I lied. "You should get some rest, Miss Brandon."

She nodded again, but didn't move an inch.

With nothing else to say, nothing else that would help her, I gathered my things and took leave to attend to my other patients.

For the entire week, she would look upon me with fear when I met with her. By when the length of our conversations increased, her eyes changed, proving that whatever had haunted her about me before was vanishing. I was unbelievably pleased to have her trust me again.

Somehow, I had bonded with Alice—much more than I should have. Not only because she was a patient I attended to, but because she was mortal. And her blood—her scent that permeated the room—was the most delicious scent I have ever experienced. The taste of the air was so tangible around her. My mouth was brimming with venom when I came within a foot of her. It was only because of how much I cherished her company and enticing conversation that I was able to leave her alive.

So, knowing that she trusted me tore at my heart, knowing that I could easily kill her any second that she became too tempting. But I loved her too much to part. I wanted to always see her face.

After a week, I brought up the conversation again, about what she had seen. She refused to speak on it. I was persistent though, and she seemed to want to share, underneath all the denial.

"This troubles you, I can tell," I said, laying my hands on her shoulders. She was so tiny, so fragile, that I bowed my body in half, afraid that her neck might snap if she were forced to look too far upward.

"It's nothing," she deflected. "I want to hear something of what's happening in the world! I haven't seen Mother in seven months. Do you know if she is planning a visit?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "To the best of my knowledge, your recent outburst about the head nurse's husband having an affair has prohibited you from being allowed visitors."

"That's too bad," Alice pouted. "But I didn't really want to see her anyway."

"And your sister?" I pried.

Alice traced invisible patterns in the floor, ignoring my question.

"Please tell me what you saw."

"It is nothing you don't already know," she reassured.

"Then it can't hurt to tell me," I griped.

"It can hurt," she muttered. She began twisting her fingers and hands into strange shapes. She stared at the wall and smiled whenever she finished a shape. "I can't wait to go camping."

I ignored the insane comment—knowing that it was probably she had seen coming, not that she had finally lost her mind.

I lowered myself to her level, trying to force her to meet my eyes, but she ignored me.

"How much can it hurt?" I prompted.

"A lot," she sighed.

"Who is it going to hurt, Alice?" I inquired.

"Me," she said. Her hands dropped to her sides.

"It's hurting you already, by not being able to talk about it," I rationalized. "So don't you think it's better to share it?"

Her eyes scanned over the floor, coming up slower than molasses to meet my gaze. She set her hands on her hips and her mouth formed a frown.

"It might hurt more than I can bear if dare share it with you," she said.

I had barely a half-second to puzzle over that when she giggled and put her finger on her chin.

"I quite brilliant, rhyming like that," Alice laughed. "I'm a poet and I didn't even know it." She paused at that and giggled again. "Maybe when I get out of here I'll write whole sonnet. I'll write a whole book just for you, Charoum."

"Have you seen…yourself getting out of this place?" I wondered hopefully.

I was happy if it were possible, but was quite sad, thinking of the possibility that she would leave me. My smile was worn bitterly, trying to pretend for her that I wanted her to be free. But isn't that the way of the world? Trapping a bird in a cage only to hear her sing. That's why all of them were here. So that we could watch upon them as they slowly unwound. As each of them forgot how to use their wings, as they domesticated. They were trained to live in their cages, to adapt to the normal way of thinking. But they were meant to be crazed and wild.

Alice, wild and beautiful, was thankfully—so far—unchangeable. She retained the beauty that so many lost when they were sent here. Those deemed insane were beaten down until whatever path they had been on was inaccessible. Mainstream society was the only definition of sane.

"Whether I get out or stay in depends entirely on you, Mr. Colopatiron," she announced raising her hands in the air. "So do I stay or do I go?"

"Alice," I winced. "You know I have no control over that."

Her arms fell. "You and I both know, sir, that you could easily arrange my exit," she whispered conspiratorially. "I am certain it is within your range of…_talents_."

I chuckled. "Talents? You mean besides checking charts and making conversation?"

"You are at least thirty and five, are you not?" Alice pried. "I myself am only ten and four,"—she paced around the room as she spoke—"Quite young to be so thoroughly trapped." She plopped herself onto the floor and put her head in her hands. "What a bother."

"I am thirty-six, Miss Brandon," I answered, "since you insist on asking. But, you are not fourteen anymore."

Alice's head snapped up. "I'm not?"

"Time does seem to get lost in here," I sighed. I clasped my hands behind my back.

"How strange," she said. "So how old am I?"

"Seventeen, Miss Brandon."

She sat up straighter and grinned. "I am quite old," she cheered calmly. "I should definitely be allowed a brandy when I am released from here. Mother can't refuse me and Father..."—she cut herself off and seemed to remember that her father was deceased—"Well, even if I weren't older he wouldn't have a say in the matter."

"You changed the topic," I commented. "Very skillfully, actually—I almost forgot my question."

"I was so close," she sighed.

"So what talents of mine are you referring to?"

"The talents that would put my life uniquely in your power," she dodged. "No syringe today, I see. That's some good news. Any other news for me? Another war, perhaps? Has my family remembered me yet?"

"How would your life be in my power?"

Her head flopped backward as she stretched her arms out behind her. The scent coming of her neck was insatiable. My eyes rolled back. Resisting her was hard when so much of her skin was free from the usual bondages they kept the patients in. Her open neck made her blood especially tempting.

"More frequently, sir, I have been seeing many situations with you and myself," she revealed. "Not of the nature on which Dr. Reeves visits me, of course…"

I pictured Dr. Reeves. He was a gray-haired man of thirty-nine and a taste for his patients in appropriate ways. His wife didn't know. But I didn't have enough cunning to tell her. I was shocked that I hadn't realized that he had focused his eye on Alice.

Alice's eyes widened and she gasped. Her body lurched forward.

"Alice!? What's wrong?" I bellowed, flying forward to check on her. Her gaze was focused on something far off, so I didn't worry that I was moving at an inhuman pace.

She mumbled incoherent words, sounding like "Help, don't, kill".

I checked her pulse. It was bit quickened, but nothing too drastic.

Alice's hand grasped my shoulder. She eyes focused on my face. "He hasn't touched me," she assured me tersely. "So don't hurt him. Patella Kato needs his new formula to cure her seizures."

I was stunned. Somehow, she had guessed my exact train of thought. She had spaced out and somehow came back with that knowledge. And how did she know that he was working on a new 'vaccination' for Mrs. Kato?

"Mrs. Kato suffers from horrid mood swings, Alice," I explained. "There are no seizures."

"But there will be, tomorrow morning," Alice recited. "Only Dr. Reeves can help her."

I nodded my head stiffly.

She smiled with relief. "Thank you."

I stood abruptly, keeping a safe distance from her sweet scent. There was sweat on her brow from her strange episode and although there was more salt in it than I usually liked, with her scent infused with it…it was unbearably good.

"What talents, Alice? What could I possibly do to Dr. Reeves?" I questioned. "What is it you saw that worries you so much? Can't you tell me?"

Alice stood. "It was about you," she started.

"I had a feeling that was the case," I sighed sharply. "Was it really so terrible? You've been afraid of me all week!"

"And I've decided it doesn't matter to me," she cheered. "You are the only one I have in this entire world."

I peered at her over my shoulder.

"The only person who is…_close_ to me," she rephrased. "If I tell you, I may lose that."

"You won't, Alice," I promised, facing her. "You can always trust me, and I will _always_ be here."

Her smile turned shy and she blushed. The fresh scent to her cheeks brought a smile to my lips. Thankfully, she was staring at the floor, so she didn't see how wicked my expression was in that moment.

I approached her and put my arms around her. "You're safe with me," I whispered. "I won't let any harm befall you."

There was a second of silence. Alice drew in an unsteady breathe and stiffened.

"I promise your secret is safe with me," she assured me. "But, please…don't hurt me."

"I've already told you, I won't hurt you," I reminded her, my smile faltering.

"I mean because of…_what_ you are," she rephrased. "Don't hurt me."

I pulled backward. My arms stiffened at my sides and my jaw dropped in shock.

"_What_ I am?" I rasped.

She bit her lip as it started to tremble. She nodded her head.

I narrowed my eyes. "And _what_ exactly do you think I am?"

"Something…out of the ordinary," she explained. "Something extraordinary—something I've never encountered before."

I worked hard to hold my composure. "Out of the ordinary as in _inhuman_…?"

She nodded again, slower this time. Her eyes met mine for a second, but she winced away.

I covered my eyes with my hand. My head was reeling from the sudden revelation. What exactly had she seen?

Tears spilled over her cheeks. I stood, saying nothing, doing nothing, unsure what to say.

"What secret, Alice?" I questioned. "I have no secrets. I am just as human as you are."

"Of course," she sighed, hugging her arms around herself. "You have no secret. And I am completely normal." She laughed. I looked through my fingers wearily. "That's why I'm in a place full of psychos. _I'm normal_."

"What is it you saw that would make you think that I have a secret?" I prompted.

"You have no secret," she mumbled angrily. "Forget I said anything."

"What did you see? Did I do something? Was I with someone? Was I in your sight?" I stammered. Could she really have figured out my secret through one of her visions?

"Uh, I saw that you brought the syringe," she said, obviously lying. "That's the big secret. You have it hidden. Not so bad."

She made her way back to the far left corner, wiping her eyes as she went.

"Did you see me, Alice?" I asked in a voice too loud to pass for nonchalance.

"I saw nothing," she lied again, sitting down in the corner with her back pressed into the wall.

I moved too quickly. I was too out of control to pay attention. I crossed the room and grabbed her shoulders, peering into her eyes with my own eyes large and wild with fear.

"What did you see, Alice?" I demanded.

Her head shot back into the wall when her eyes focused on me. She looked passed my head to where I had been standing a half-second ago and then back to my face. Her eyes were wider than saucers and her face was paler than it had been when I had seen her, pale with fear and tiredness, a week ago.

"I saw something like this, Mr. Colopatiron," she whispered. "Only you were honest."

I released her shoulders and stepped back.

Scenarios rushed through my mind. She could tell people about me. I could be found out. But she was in an asylum, so no one would believe her, right? So that was covered. I didn't need to worry over being forced to leave the asylum—being forced to stop helping the mentally ill as best I could.

But that wasn't what I was most worried over. If Alice _had_ seen anything that implied what I was, then the fears in her tone when I walked in made sense. If she was afraid of me, if she told that other nurses that she feared me, then I wouldn't be allowed to see her again. 'It wouldn't be beneficial to her health,' as the head nurse would say, 'to continue seeing her'. I couldn't have that.

"I know what you are, and I will not expose you," she swore, placing her hand over her heart. "You are my most intimate friend, and I trust you, besides that."

"_Do you really know what I am_?" I demanded, crouching to the floor.

"Yes."

"Then say it," I hissed. "Name me for what I truly am, little Miss Alice."

"I think I shouldn't," she argued. "It makes it worse."

"Am I a too much of a monster?" I seethed.

"Sir, you are a poor soul who has been wickedly trapped into being an immortal of a most foul means," she resolved. "Not a monster."

"Name me by the creature I am," I insisted.

She sucked in a large amount of air and held her lips tight together. Her eyes held the resolve to tell me. I waited. She leaned forward and in a low voice, with great courage, said:

"You are a vampire."

I hissed and sprang to the other side of the room, running my hands through my hair. She had figured me out and I was now beside myself with aggravation. She had known for the past week—had feared me for that long! She had lost sleep over knowing what I was.

"I saw you, with Miss Dina, the girl who went missing," Alice confessed. "She had been thrashing so horribly that she broke her wrist and broke Miss Regina's nose in the process. I know you did it for the good of this institution. That's why I trust you, why I would never tell anyone. I swear."

"Didn't you see what I did to Mr. Carpenter last night?" I raged, spinning to face her, and then, so suddenly she screamed, leaned into her face and lightly grabbed her neck. "All he did was get in my way. But because I was a little thirsty I decided that he would be my victim."

She swallowed hard. The movement was caught inside my hand. I loosened my grip and brought my face closer, lowering my voice.

"You could be next, Alice," I warned.

"That's what I saw, Mr. Colopatiron," she confided. "I saw my death last week. I saw you bring my life to an end with my blood being sucked up like a bee to nectar. Me, of course, being the flower and you, obviously, being the bee."

I removed my hand from her neck. "So why not run?"

"I'm locked in here," she reminded me. "I get out of here for eight hours each day to either paint or talk about my thoughts with someone who could care less if I'm talking about the birds and the bees, the color yellow, why there is fire in the water, or about the latest president." She paused. "If I mention that my only friend wants to drink my blood, I hardly think they'll call me sane."

I grinned. "No, I suppose not."

She rolled her eyes, an attempt at nonchalance, but her lip was trembling.

"So, what's next?" I wondered. "Is this the part where I kill you?"

"That's up to you," she said. "You didn't kill me last week, like you were supposed to. So, you choose."

"You're afraid to die," I realized, seeing her shaking increase.

"I'm not afraid of you," she bluffed.

"That's not what I said," I continued. "I said, you're afraid to die. Why?"

"Why? Do I need a reason? I'm insane, remember?"

"An insane person has no need to be afraid to die," I reasoned. "They already are."

"I beg to differ," Alice snapped. "They are equally alive as either you or me."

"Absolutely," I agreed. "I'm already dead and you're about to die."

Alice gulped. "Okay, so that's not a correct assumption. Since I am soon to die and you are not quite alive, I suppose they are more alive than either you or me."

"Precisely," I simpered.

I watched her quivering lip. How it reminded me of my dear Esmera! How she would make such a face when she worried if I wouldn't come home from battle, or if she worried our child wouldn't come soon enough…I could think no more of that. I examined Alice's face again. How much she looked like my Esmera. She was smaller, more energetic, and younger, but so close in appearance. I could picture the still body of my child—my little girl—when she was born. I wondered if she would look like Alice.

Thinking on that, I couldn't bear to hurt her. Alice Brandon, who reminded me so of my wife, who I so wished were bound to me in some way, was quivering from fear of me. If only she had been born to me three hundred years ago, that my Esmera hadn't been butchered by the vampiress who had altered my life so…If only I had the life I had wanted, and the end I had hoped for. Instead, I was on this earth as a monster.

I had one choice though. Alice's family had abandoned her. So, why couldn't I keep her? She would have no objection. There was no one else who would want her.

"Except, Alice," I continued, "I think you deserve to live. You deserve to leave here."

"We'll see," she muttered.

I leaned backward and she relaxed. Her shaking stopped.

"When am I to die, then?" she demanded nervously.

"I won't kill you," I promised.

"Today," she interjected.

I smirked. "Today."


	3. Chapter 3: The Dastard

"A forest bird never wants a cage." – Henrik Ibsen

* * *

Chapter 2: The Dastard

"His father is far-right of the anti-communism party," Mother said, in a voice that suggesting nothing but respect for him. "I cannot speak for all of this fine country, but I do believe we have—by far—the best outlook on how to run a place. Don't you, Mary?"

"Of course, Mother," I replied, though I wasn't truly listening.

"I will never be able to replace such a suitable match," she chimed cheerily, seeming quite unable to stop. "Why he's still swooning over you! What he sees in you I am absolutely uncertain. But he does see in you, and be thankful. When you are released from here you will have a fine husband ready for you."

"That's wonderful, Mother."

"Cynthia is already attracting such fine gentlemen," she continued. "She's had several offers—but I've had to tell them she's too young! How dreadful for her! If only she were older."

"If only," I agreed. I set my head in my hands. Why _today_ of all days should she choose to visit me?

"You are unofficially engaged to Caspar, and that seems to have worked so far for you, so I hope I can arrange such a thing for dear Cynthia with this Mr. Wickham fellow," she prattled, waving her hands about her in such a fashion that I winced out of shame of her odd actions. "He has great manners and he is well in the ways of money. Well,"—she paused to laugh—"he's no Mr. Parker."—she laughed some more—"But he'll do for my youngest."

"You might as well set Cynthia up with Caspar as you are such a fanatic of his," I sighed.

She turned white. "How dare you say such a thing," Mother reprimanded. "He is in _love_ with you, Mary. He's rich _and_ he loves you. You can't possibly get more out of life than that! Trust me. It's been proven."

I rolled my eyes. As untrue as that statement was, I didn't want to argue with her. The sooner she got her comments out the sooner she would leave.

"Mary, what's happened to you?" she wailed. "You were once such a good girl! Ever since your…incident…you've changed."

I stiffened my jaw so I wouldn't say anything that would get me into her worst opinion. I preferred that she worry over me rather than give up on me. Smiling was hard to do when she accused me of being something offensive or cursed.

"It's that man, isn't it?" she whispered.

My eyes shot up. My thoughts immediately jumbled about—settling on Charoum finally.

"I knew it," Mother snapped, pointing her finger at me. "You've been charming some doctor or some helper or whatever male is running around in this place. I can tell, Mary! You've turned to sin being in here."

I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands.

"You're not all crazy, Mary," she moaned. "You've been taken over by some demon! Oh, I knew it! Paul was right!"

I gnashed my teeth at his name. Paul—the man my mother had married—the man who saw demons in everyone who wasn't his ideal picture of a person. I had a sound belief in God through the teachings in church and the enthusiasm of my father—I didn't need Paul to tell me what true belief was.

Paul had already tried to 'convert me to the light,' as he called it, on his last visit here with Mother. He had tried and failed. He swore that the demon in me was too strong for him, that he was giving up on me. (And I didn't dare mention the vampire influence on me.) Mother didn't like that very much, but as her new husband, she convinced herself that he was right. That's why she obeyed Paul and didn't allow Cynthia to see me. Paul was sure I would corrupt her, that I would spread the devil to her. So, I was never to see Cynthia again.

"Mary, Mary, _Mary_!" Mother cried. "Why can't you let us help you? Why do you have to ruin your innocence by fooling around with the _doctors_! You could be rich, right now! You could be free from here."

"I'm not 'fooling' with anyone, Mother," I snapped. "I am simply surviving in this hell-hole. So don't expect me to do anything less."

Her hand went to her heart. "You hurt me with those lies," she sobbed.

I slammed my hand on the table. "You banished me away here, _Mother_! If you can't face what you yourself have _done_ to me, then _stop_ _coming_ to see me!"

"I will never abandon you," she said, with sacrifice and pride in her tone.

I narrowed my eyes. "You already did," I seethed. "I've spent almost four years here, without you coming to see me. Why now? Are you coming to remind me that I deserve to be here?"

"No, it's cold, snowing, dark," she whimpered. "It feels lonely without you nearby…without your father."

My fist loosened. I was surprised she still thought of him. Maybe she had a right to move on, maybe she didn't. But her remembering him made me wonder how she _could_. Didn't she want to honor his memory by remaining faithful?

"I almost bought you a present yesterday," she confessed. "But then I remembered that they don't allow you any."

I sighed. "No, they don't."

"But I'm going to break the rules," she confided.

I arched my brow and waited. She lifted something out of her pocket. She unfolded a cloth and revealed what was inside. I couldn't help but smile.

It was a little porcelain ballerina. She had dark hair, with white skin, a white tutu, and pink ballet slippers. She had no face, just the shape of one, with the glaze making the light appear to glow over the skin. Her arms were stretched upward, thumb hidden, as it should be, in the shape of the fingers. Her left leg was behind her back, reached backward, looking both so delicate and strong. She had a thin torso and small bust. Her waist was too small to be human, but the figurine was beautiful.

"Cynthia found it," Mother said softly. "She said it reminded her of you. We couldn't resist giving it to you."

My smile grew broad. I picked up the figurine and cradled her in my hands. Cynthia had remembered me. Mother had thought of me. I wasn't forgotten, locked inside this place. I existed to someone outside my cell.

"I best go," Mother moaned, loud again. "Busy, as I always am. I promise to see you in the New Year."

I nodded, but I didn't watch her leave. I stared at the figurine and paid no attention to the tears of joy that passed down my cheeks. I didn't notice anyone pass me. I felt only a cold hand on my shoulder.

"Alice, you've been sitting here for hours," Charoum said, a smile in his voice. "I was half afraid you would have turned to stone."

"If only," I sighed happily.

"If only?" he questioned. "You could be released in a matter of weeks and you want to turn to stone?"

"Well, we would make a better pair if we were both as hard as stone, wouldn't you agree?" I laughed.

"No, it's better for you to live," he insisted. "And Dr. Mencken's review can make that happen for you."

"My buttons are ready to bust from excitement!" I admitted excitedly. "I thought I would be an old maid before I was rid of this dreadful place. But to think! Only eighteen! I might have a chance after all."

"Is it really so bad with me here?" he prompted.

I inclined my head and lowered my voice. "Charoum, I am sorry to confide in you this, but having your only friend be a vampire is not the best choice of friendship."

"But I can protect you better than any old intimate friend," he objected.

"But a normal, weak friend does not feel the urge to taste my blood, sir," I rejected, turning my head away.

"A normal friend might not have arranged a meeting with Dr. Mencken in the first place," he said in absolute confidence.

"Thank goodness! You're right," I admitted feverously. "I now get to owe my life to a vampire! Now you can feel no guilt if you accidentally do away with me one night."

"Exactly," he said, grinning impishly.

I giggled. "I don't know how you have influence over doctors, Mr. Colopatiron, but it amuses me," I rambled. "And how many places you have seen! How incredible!" I shook my head in disbelief.

"When I get you away from here I promise to take you there," he whispered seductively.

"To where?" I wondered.

"To anywhere you wish."

I smirked. "That is very sweet, and I am the type of girl to fall for that," I prattled, "but I would much prefer a home."

He raised his eyebrows. "You mean, to stay in one place?"

I bowed my head. "I want a place with a family, with people I love and trust, and who love and trust me," I explained. "I want a place to belong to."

"I'll find you that," Charoum promised.

I glanced up at him shyly, hopefully. "You will?"

"As long as you let me come with you," he bargained.

"Of course," I agreed, jumping up and hugging him, carefully keeping the ballerina safe in my hand. "I wouldn't want to go anywhere without you!"

He patted my back and chuckled. "You're even more enthusiastic when there's something to hope for," he stated laughingly.

I leaned back far enough to kiss him on the cheek. "And that hope is only thanks to you, my dearest friend," I complimented, taking a step back and cradling the figurine in both hands again.

"Let's get you back into your temporary cage before someone suspects I kidnapped you," Charoum suggested.

I shrugged. "So kidnap me, sir," I said. "I have no complaints."

"It is best to do this properly," he insisted. "That way you can be free with no need to look over your shoulder for the rest of your life."

I had to admit, that sounded good. And with Charoum beside me, I wouldn't be forced back immediately to Caspar Parker. I wanted so badly to part from my old life, to forget. I knew that to be impossible, when I cherished Cynthia and Mother so dearly, but I wanted to get away from the rest of it. I was willing to sacrifice them—as painful as that thought was—if it meant a chance to be free.

Two days passed, and then three, four and five, until I was bursting at the seams, dancing around as a ball of fire, eager to escape my prison. If Dr. Mencken cleared me I would have my freedom. I would have my life. I just needed to see him.

He had met with me once before, and assured me that he was quite convinced that I was sane. He had needed to check on another patient in another state before he could clear me out, but I said he wasn't worried that I would be set out once he confirmed my condition with a few doctors of great reputation. He listed the names of doctors to me, some being Dr. Carlisle Cullen, Dr. Jonathan Ramsey, and Dr. Franklin Reeds. I had not the faintest clue as to why such a range of doctors from so many fields of study were needed to prove me sane, but apparently my case was too unique for one doctor alone to cover.

A week had passed. I sat, smiling, ready to bounce off the walls, waiting for someone to come for me. Charoum visited me, but said there was no news of Dr. Mencken. I worried when nighttime came and he had still not shown.

Nine days passed and still no sign of him. Charoum comforted me, telling me that there was no word of delay, and no talk of cancellation. I hadn't seen any vision of him not coming—and none of his coming. I hoped I would see something—any sign that he had gotten lost or that he had to see someone else first. He was coming from Chicago, Illinois, and it was a trip to get here. I hoped that he would hurry, but I hoped that he wasn't harmed.

It was two weeks in passing that I finally heard news of Dr. Mencken. Charoum delivered the news of his murder on the first morning of the third week. There was to be a replacement sent to see if I was able to be released.

I mourned Dr. Mencken's death, not only for my own selfish reasons. He was a good man, and he hadn't deserved murder. He deserved life—just as I deserved life. I hoped—maliciously, in a fit of grief—that I would come face-to-face with his murderer. I knew in my heart that revenge was wrong, but having my freedom sucked so quickly from my grasp infuriated me too much for reason.

When I told Charoum of my anger, of my pain, he told, reluctantly, about his own story. I had never heard him speak it before. He had explained the process of how he became a vampire to me recently, feeling I was trustworthy enough. He had said that it was a painful process and that a jealous vampiress had killed his wife and turned him so that he would be her mate. Charoum, of course, refused her and ran from her. But he had never mentioned his wife's name. Hearing it brought tears to my eyes.

"Esmera was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on," Charoum began; his eyes closed, mouth poised to smile, probably picturing her. "She was filled with so much kindness, so much light. _She had so much life_ **inside** her. I was a king, of sorts, for my people, and she was a most generous queen. She worked with the common women in times of war, doing all she could to help."

I smiled at that through my tears. I took Charoum's hand and he squeezed it gently as he opened his eyes to look at me.

"But I had never seen her happier, lighter, than when she found herself with child," he continued. "She could barely contain her joy within her body." His smile fell. "That is to say, she _couldn't_ contain anything. The child made her weak. My entire county wept as she weakened."

"It wasn't that which killed her, though," he sighed sadly. "A mysterious woman—a vampire, I now know—entered claiming to be able to cure her. She didn't. She wanted only to be allowed into my company, to feed off my people, and later, when her eyes beheld me, to change me into one of her kind."

"Do you know why she chose you?" I wondered.

He shook his head. "She offered her immortality to many of my strongest warriors, but none of them accepted, and none of them she pursued."

"I am so sorry, Charoum, for your loss," I said consolingly.

He touched my cheek. "I thought I would never be able to move again when I found her dead," he confided. "But I did. And I found you."

"And I am sure glad you did," I smiled weakly.

"Freedom comes when it comes," he professed. "Dr. Mencken's death is not your fault, my Alice, so do not trouble yourself over it. Worry yourself over nothing in this moment. Someone is coming to replace him, and this person will free you."

"At last," I agreed, tiredly. "But when?" I faced away from him, looking at the walls that I had become so accustomed to over the years.

He smirked. "Two days."

"Then I will wait two days and hope for an end to this," I reasoned. "So long as there's hope, I'll be fine." I softly rubbed the blank-face of the porcelain ballerina. "I'll be fine," I told myself. "Just two days."

But I couldn't shake the feeling that something horrible was about to happen.

I had no sleep that night, and yet slept thoroughly the following two nights. I couldn't begin to comprehend my sleep patterns, but I hoped that it was a sign that there was no apocalypse and that whoever the replacement was agreed to my release as much as Dr. Mencken had.

I woke up early—or at least it felt early—the day of the supposed arrival. I lay awake for what felt days, but I'm certain was only an hour. I envisioned Charoum knocking, and practically forced my vision to see it coming. Today, it worked. I saw Charoum knocking within the hour. I waited, sitting straight, ready to go. Charoum opened the door and I grinned, barely able to contain my joy.

"He's here?" I guessed.

With a smirk he nodded. "Merry Christmas, Alice," he whispered.

I leaped upward and sprung on him, hugging my arms around his neck.

"Calm yourself down or you'll worry yourself into a fit and that won't help you none," he warned me.

"Right," I agreed. "Absolutely right. How completely careless of me!" I paused, taking deep breaths and calming myself.

When I was calm enough, Charoum let me through the door. I whispered questions to him faster than a bullet shot from the gun as he led me to meet my salvation.

"Have you seen him?"

"Not yet."

"Is he nice looking?"

"I haven't seen him."

"Did you hear his heartbeat? Does it sound like a kind heartbeat? Does he breathe like a kind person? Is there way to tell if a person is generous from the way they breathe? Or can you tell from only their expression? If he says no what do I do?"

"Calm yourself, Alice," he consoled me. "Calm and you will make it out alive today."

"Absolutely right," I agreed. "Calm is the key. And I need the key. Can't very well open a cage if I don't have the key, can I?"

"Calm," he reminded gently.

I exhaled. "Calm. Right."

We reached the main office, where all the files of the crazies and their relatives' pay money was kept. I was standing outside the door, ready to burst in when Charoum suddenly stiffened beside me. I low growl came from his chest.

"What's wrong, Charoum?" I asked. "Does his stink or something? Does smell affect a person's ability to do kind acts?"

"He's not human," he snarled.

"Oh, good, one of your friends," I laughed.

"Not exactly," he muttered. "I can't tell you is he's good or bad, but I can tell you that he's not here to do good works." He placed his hand on the small of my back and put his hand on the door handle. "I'm about to put you in serious danger, Alice. Forgive me."

"No, this guy is the only one who can release me," I argued. "There's no danger in that."

Charoum glanced down at me, his expression twisted with rage and pleasure. "You have no idea how good you smell, Alice," he whispered. "I'm sure this guy has already imagined a thousand ways to get you all to his own. Any vampire would want to taste that blood of yours."

I shrugged.

"This is something to worry about," he confessed. "I think kidnapping you is the better option."—he spun me around and effortlessly lifted me by my hips to bring my eyes level with his—"We can go right this second, no delays. I can take you now to that home you have planned out for yourself, with no set-backs and no danger. Trust me, going in there will be the death of you."

"Don't fret," I teased. "I'll be fine. Better than fine. With this guy's help, I can be free properly, and run off with you legally. I can leave Mother and Cynthia behind with no regrets. They'll want to see me after all. I'll say goodbye when I'm released and the conviction that I was right all along will give my mother's husband a well-deserved heart-attack. Or at least cause him to rethink his morals."

He narrowed his eyes, which were burgundy. He had fed off human blood recently, far as I could tell. He had gone two years by animal blood alone, all for me, but he couldn't stand how it limited him. He was backing to humans again. I knew it should frighten me, or even disgust me, but I needed him too much, loved him too much. He was like the older brother I had never had. Well, in all honesty, he was more than that. He was like a brother and a father at the same time he was my most intimate friend and wishful lover. Although I had never treated him as such, I sometimes wondered if his reluctance to move on from his wife Esmera was lessened when he was near me.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he murmured solemnly.

"This is my choice," I verified. "I want this."

He set me on my feet and with a reluctant sigh, opened the door.

My eyes immediately fixed on the pale-skinned man across from the mental institutions director, Mr. Collins.

The man who was to free me—the vampire—had light brown hair and a medium build. His head turned slightly, stiffly to face me. His features were—bluntly—plain. There was nothing about him that caused him to be neither ugly nor beautiful. Charoum had explained to me that vampires were usually attractive, stunning creatures—and now I knew why he said 'usually'. He certainly had a defined shape about him, but only to suggest that he might be proper and strong. He had the face of a person I would pass walking down the street and never notice—if I was allowed to walk to streets freely. He wore a fine suit, and a bow-tie. His eyes—dark burgundy in color—fixated in me in strange, terrifying and hypnotic sort of stare. His mouth popped open. His nostrils flared and his eyes rolled back as he inhaled deeply. Charoum stiffened at my side, and his hand now grabbed the back of my clothes, ready to pull me away rather than to support me.

"Ah, finally here," Mr. Collins noted. "Took you damn near long enough. I'm wasting my Christmas morning on you. Be glad Mrs. Collins is with her mother and I want nothing to do with her. Nasty old hag. But, my wife's mother. What can I do?" He paused, and then made eye contact with me. "Have a seat, Miss Brandon."

I did as directed. I sat not next to the vampire-stranger, but next to Mr. Collins. He stared at me incredulously.

"Not by me," he snapped. "Over there!" He pointed at the chair beside the strange vampire. "And you can go now, Colopatiron," he muttered under his breath.

"I think I'll be staying," Charoum insisted. His eyes locked in with the stranger's in a violent, animal-like stare. Both pairs of eyes seemed to hold a warning in them.

Mr. Collins seemed like he was about to bark off some orders for Charoum, but one quick flash of a stare from Charoum and Mr. Collins was silent.

"Uh, well, let's get this over with," Mr. Collins coughed, clearing his throat and regaining his gruff voice. "I have things to do, things to avoid doing, and people I don't want to see. Never mind I have places to be. And I'm running late already. Mrs. Collins is going to be in such a mood." He shook his head and sighed. "Dr. James Warren, this is Mary Alice Brandon. And this rude young man is an employee here, charged with taking care of Miss Brandon and others of a similar peculiar mental state."

"I am quite pleased to meet you, Miss Brandon," the vampire James said sweetly in a voice that seemed not common, but not spectacular either. It was calm voice, with assurances in it, with certainty. "You can call me James."

"Of course, I'm delighted to meet you, sir," I garbled. "I can only hope that your opinion of me is as good as Dr. Mencken's was."

"I like you so very much already," he assured me, lips curling into a frightening grin. "I'm sure I can arrange the very best situation for you. Perhaps we can talk alone."

"No," Charoum snapped.

"No?" I gasped.

"No?" Mr. Collins wondered in bewilderment.

"No?" James seethed. "Why not, sir? Is she too _ill_ for that?"

Charoum ground his teeth. "She is well enough."

"Then I should speak with her alone, to test her mental capacity," James reasoned, looking to Mr. Collins. "I am certain you have no objection, Mr. Collins?"

"No go right on ahead! Just hurry out of my office," he grumbled.

"This is against protocol, Mr. Collins," Charoum objected.

I closed my eyes, knowing that if Charoum continued to object, I was not going to have even half a chance at proper release.

"A meeting on Christmas is against protocol too! But here I am!" Mr. Collins roared, shaking his finger at—well—no one in particular. "So what? She talks to him, he lets her go, and she's not our problem anymore," Mr. Collins rationalized. "It's best for everyone."

If I didn't get out today…or tomorrow…what were my chances? They were slimmer than none.

"Protocol, you said, is the most important thing about a business, Mr. Collins."

"And less stress is good for my good mood, and this meeting is causing me stress."

"I agree with you, Mr. Collins, this worker of yours should mind his own business," James hissed.

It struck me then. I gasped and my eyes rolled back. I grabbed my seat, grasping at it with all my might as my eyes lurched into a room where I was screaming. I saw myself screaming, and I saw James, chasing me. I saw Charoum scooping me up into his arms, and then running. I watched James snap his jaws as he came closer to us. Charoum let me go, told me to run, and then faced James. I was running, with my arm bleeding. I was screaming again. Charoum appeared suddenly. I recognized where we were, some sort of graveyard…

_"It burns! Help me! Kill me! Anything! Stop the fire! It's inside me!"_.

"Just stay here, and try to keep quiet," Charoum warned. He opened a stone coffin and placed me inside he closed the coffin with me inside

"What burns?" Mr. Collins pried. "What is she talking about?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Warren, but it looks like she's not ready to be released after all. Again, sorry to waste your time. Oh, and mine now too."

I pulled my head up and wiped sweat off my face. My eyes slowly focused. How had I fallen to the floor? Charoum was lifting me up, steadying me onto my feet.

"More shock treatments, I would suggest," James said lithely.

I jumped at his words. My heart stopped for a second, as it realized what he had said—the shock treatments. His eyes—although I looked for merely a second to avoid the frightening burgundy shade they were—were wide with surprise. Although, I expected it—not because of my vision—but because most people I knew mentioned treatments of that sort as the very last possible cure.

"It would do her some good. Her mind is so obviously set incorrectly," he finished, recovering from his surprise, narrowing his eyes.

"No," Charoum objected. "She hasn't had much sleep lately, is all. She fell asleep and she was dreaming."

Dreaming—how I wished Mr. Collins could be convince by that! My heart re-started, beating faster and faster as panic built-up inside me. James' mouth twitched into a smile, somehow feeling the quickened beat of my heart, as if it excited him.

"Even if I did believe you," James rasped. "A dream that _violent_ proves that she isn't stable."

I heard a low growl from Charoum's chest. I flinched.

"I must say I agree with Mr. Warren," Mr. Collins said, his wary eyes on both Charoum and James. "He is the expert, so, naturally, he is correct."

"But I might want to check on her soon," James suggested, grinning like a demon—no—a vampire—would. "It would be wise to her health for you to get straight to those treatments, before damage is done to herself or others."

"She's not dangerous, Mr. Collins!" Charoum insisted, stepping forward. His eyes were on Mr. Collins, but I could catch them shift to James constantly. "You have personally said so in the past! She deserves to go free."

"But that violent…_dream_…she had, Mr. Colopatiron," Mr. Collins pointed out, "is a sign that perhaps her mental state has deteriorated."

My cheeks colored and my heart sped so much that it hurt my chest. I heard James suck in a breath, holding it for too long. Charoum did the same. Mr. Collins pulled out my file and began writing.

"It _hasn't deteriorated_," Charoum hissed. "She _is completely healthy_." His fingers curved around the edge of Mr. Collins' desk. I heard the wood crunch under his grip. James stood.

"Shock treatments—," James had begun to say, as Mr. Collins finished writing some prescribed method of cure on my file. But, before he could finish, I was shoved backward, into the wall, and faced a most frightening scene.

Charoum's hand was around James' neck. Mr. Collins leaped backward, causing loose files, papers, and notes to crash to the floor.

"What's going on here? I demand that you calm yourself down, Mr.--," but Mr. Collins was cut-off as well. He had spoken so fast—and then his breath heaved in, and the sound of gagging filled the room. My eyes shot up to his face upon hearing a sickening crunch that caused my stomach to lurch.

James' hand was around Mr. Collins' neck. Mr. Collins' head dropped, plummeting forward so that his nose hit his chest. James had strangled him in a second, and—worse than that… He had snapped it.

I gagged and felt the vomit in my throat. My stomach tightened as I watched James release Mr. Collins, tossing him lightly, non-feelingly, to the floor. My eyes were so wide they strained, as if they could pop from my sockets at any moment.

"Run—Alice—!" Charoum roared, clawing at James. James retaliated, and although his movements were so quick that I couldn't follow them, he had his eyes on me. That hindered his movement. He was watching me. Charoum had a better chance if I stayed—if I was there to distract him. I reasoned that with myself for half a minute. But, in truth, I was petrified into stillness. I was too afraid to remember how my limbs functioned.

"Alice!" Charoum roared again, somehow from the furthest left corner of the office, pining James to the wall. James struggled though, his clawing making the sound of lightening as it strikes the earth whenever he made contact with Charoum's skin.

This time, I remembered how to move. Slowly, at first, I picked myself up, leaning against the wall behind me for support. I noticed how much my head hurt then. I noticed that it was unusually warm—that there was something warm trickling out the back of my head, just lightly. My elbow, I was certain was bruising, but I had to ignore it. My mind caught up with me. A rush through my blood and heart reminded me to run. I swung the office door open and ran.

I flew forward blindly, trusting the rush in my head, my heart, and now my entire body. I moved fast through the hallway. I recalled, that when I was younger, before Mother forbade me from playing with the boys, and getting in the mud, how I had been the fastest. We had raced—and I had beaten them all, every time! I was so grateful for that now! Although my strength was weakened from being in the supposed hospital for years, I still retained some speed.

"Mary Brandon?" a nurse muttered, recognizing me as I zipped by her. "Miss Brandon!"

I heard her feet behind me, tapping on the floor daintily. I pushed myself faster.

"Miss Brandon?" another nurse cried as passed her, almost knocking the file out of her hand, since I hadn't predicted her coming around the corner so quickly. I didn't stop though. I went faster.

Panic gripped me. Tears blinded me. My head was pounding more than Peter Rodger's body against the wall, whose cell I had passed by many times in my four years here. Not to mention, the trepidation I was experiencing.

"Someone! Catch her!" the second nurse—whose voice I recognized as Mrs. Brooks.

My body was too tried to go any faster. My arms and back sagged. But I was still faster than they could catch. I glanced back behind me—and that was my downfall. Mr. Lyle Aisse—the second in charge, as far as files and papers went—grabbed my arm and pulled me to a halt. Mrs. Chambers, who always carried sedation on her, stuck me with the needle. My entire body felt its effects from the instant the point pierced my skin. My eyelids drooped, even as my tear ducts tried to push out the last of my salty tears. My head flopped backward and Mr. Aisse caught me. I was aware for longer than expected; awake, in the blackness for only a few seconds, only enough to hear my life slowly end.

"What's happened?" Mrs. Brooks asked breathlessly. She had taken so long to catch me. I smiled drowsily, fighting against the sedation.

"Her head is bleeding!"

"Someone call Mr. Collins," Mr. Aisse ordered.

"Where is Mr. Colopatiron? He always knows what's happened to Miss Brandon," Mrs. Chambers squawked.

"Someone should stop the bleeding," Mrs. Brooks piped.

"Wasn't she with Mr. Collins this morning?" another nurse mentioned worriedly.

"Mr. Aisse! I just found Mr. Collins," a new voice announced shakily, also out of breath.

"Good Lord, by what do you mean 'found'?" Mr. Aisse demanded.

The new person inhaled, "Dead."

I lost consciousness to a fresh bout of tears, knowing I would never again wake up as Mary Alice Brandon—the daughter—the sister—the beloved—the hopeful—the cheery—the delight—the dancer… I would be none of those things. I would be damaged and destroyed. My life forever altered by the shock treatments—or maybe, if lucky, I would be sent to a real prison on murder charges. At least then no one would argue when I called it a cage. I would never open my eyes and see Charoum. I would never touch the porcelain of my tiny ballerina, remember memories of fondness, or remember my dear Mother and sister.

I had run, cowardly, coldly leaving Charoum behind to face a monster. Although I saw in Charoum's eyes a thirst to taste me as well, he had defended me. Was I to hope he had survived? Had he narrowly escaped? Would he face charges for Mr. Collins' murder? Would he run too?

Whatever the case, I was a complete and utter dastard. I had left my only friend in the hands of a cruel monster.

Not that it mattered. In moments, I would not be able to feel regret, to feel remorse, to feel pitiful and horrid. I wouldn't feel trapped or encaged either. I would feel nothing.

I would never wake up again.

I was to die.


	4. Chapter 4: Her Freedom

"Freedom means the opportunity to be what we never thought we would be." – Daniel J. Boorstin

* * *

**_Chapter 4: Her Freedom..._**

* * *

I dragged James out of there in time, so that no one would see us. I wanted to protect my secret, so that I could come back to Alice when I could. I fought him a long ways, ever trying to maintain a certain level of invisibility. James was wary of roadways, but wouldn't care if a group of people came by. He would gladly slaughter them all. I wouldn't mind the taste of blood, nor the excuse to have it, but…thinking of Alice always made preserving human life a high priority for me. Her delicate human state…I worried that I had pushed her back too hard into the wall when I had tried to prevent James from snatching her. I had smelled her blood—and how difficult it was to resist!—and that had frenzied James. He would have killed everyone in the ward for her blood. And, in all honesty, so would I.

I didn't though. I had temporarily saved her. She wasn't free, like she wished to be, but I would grant her that wish yet.

Once I killed James, I would free her permanently.

* * *

A month later, I had run from him. He had nearly killed me. My beaten limbs were inches from the fire. Thankfully, with surprise, I tore off his arm, and in his foolish pride, he mourned his defected body while I gathered myself together. It didn't take a second for him to catch up, but, still, I had run. I had lured him all the way out of the United States by now.

I had to keep going, no matter how much I longed to return to Alice, to see if she was in trouble—to see who they blamed for Mr. Collins' murder.

* * *

Three months later, and he is still tracking me. I thought I had a knack for escaping chasers, but he has some sort of skill at it. Somehow, he is a more skilled tracker than I had predicted. He is unshakable. But, he won't follow me further. I can assume he wants to return to Alice, to claim his prize—her blood.

* * *

Two months have passed. How has it been so long? He is patient. James, a vampire far younger than I, somehow has patience for the hunt. I know I am weaker than him, in skill, but I can out-wait him. I will kill him and then, once I came back, I will save Alice. My Alice.

* * *

Many times, in my patience to lure James away, I pictured her. I imagined her, still trapped in her change. Her spirit, as powerful as a hawk soaring through the air, her soul, as beautiful and delicate as a butterfly, and her heart, wild and strong as a hummingbird. Somehow, I could only think of her in those terms—trapped as a bird in a cage. Her small figure, beaten down from the years in torture of being told how unwell she was, how hated she was by her family. They didn't understand her—how special and exquisite she was.

She was my little bird. I had kept her too long, afraid to set her free. They had clipped her wings so often—hindering her beauty and brining her shame at loss of her once beautiful hair, once beautiful skin, which was now punctured with needles and bruised from treatments…but was worse than them because I could have set her free. It was as simple as unlocking the cage. What was the use of being a powerful immortal if I only watched as she suffered? I wanted too badly to keep her though, to hear her laugh, and see her smile for me alone. I was wrong. I was selfish. What I wanted for me was not best for her. And now, James was after her, all because of me. I should have saved her long before that.

* * *

I lost track of time. How long had I been gone? Was it another month? Another year? Or had it been several years? I didn't care. I needed to see her. I needed to release her finally.

I hoped she hadn't forgotten me.

* * *

It took weeks to get around James. If he weren't my enemy, I would have felt honored by his skill. I would have complimented him.

As it was, he was my enemy, and so I loathed him for it. I snarled every thought, cursing his name, swearing that if I didn't kill him it would be the death of me. Once I freed Alice, I would find him and kill him. Then, I would return to Alice and take her to the home she had designed for herself. I wanted her imagined home to become real.

* * *

I came back. I had been gone a year. Alice was nineteen. How had I been gone from her for so long? I noticed the date on the newspapers in town. It was nighttime when I arrived at the asylum. I wondered if she had missed me, if they had released her already, or if she was worse off with me gone.

* * *

It was nearing the end of nineteen-twenty—nineteen-twenty! I would be gallantly saving Alice in a wholly new decade. What would Alice think of that? She had thought eighteen was young, still fresh. Would she think that nineteen was still as positive? Would she still believe she had lots of time?

She was probably frightened of me, after seeing me tear at James. How mortified and scarred mentally was she from seeing James break Mr. Collins' neck? Would she fear that I could kill her as easily? _Would she be afraid of me_?

I dashed by the front desk. No one was there. Security must be making its rounds. The night nurses were probably administering their nightly routine doses. If nothing had changed in the year I was gone, Alice wouldn't require anything of that sort, and so I could freely visit her without interruption.

I hoped her cell was the same. I headed to the general direction of her old room. She had only gained her own room after a year of being in the asylum. Some rich family—the Casper she had mentioned to me on occasion probably—had paid for the extra space. How charitable and generous. Paying for her to keep silent about the criminal acts she told me of.

I caught the scent of her blood. It was strong—but altered. There was something extra in it, changing the scent. I couldn't tell. I hoped it was only from too much sedation and not… But, before I even finished the thought, I was outside her door and my worst fears were confirmed. Very clearly, outside her door hung the log of her treatments, with too many shock treatments for any hope to be leftover. I held my breath though, and hoped. I hoped that when I walked in to see her, her mind wouldn't be as deteriorated as most patients' minds were when they had more than three shock treatments—especially so close together.

I opened the door. There was a small sound—she was singing under her breath. There was no one in the room, so, she was singing a lullaby to herself. It was vaguely familiar to me, but I couldn't put a name to it. Maybe I hadn't heard it at all. But it was so beautiful, and so her high, seraphim's voice, I willed it to be familiar.

"Alice?" I called quietly.

The humming continued.

I moved closer, quietly.

The humming stopped. She gasped and her head reeled backward, I moved toward her, to help her, but I recognized the movement. She was seeing something.

"Then she was dead. Dead," Alice sighed.

"Alice, can you hear me?"

She paused, for half a second. Then, inhaled deeply.

"Coward," she breathed angrily. She grabbed her shoulders and rocked back and forth, shaking her head. "I saw him. _I saw him_! Oh, Charoum"—had she recognized my voice?—"_I saw him_. Hope—hope—I saw him—I saw hope. There's always hope. But he ran away!"

My hope gushed from me, like a hole in a well. It leaked out, slowly, as I came to grasp that Alice was gone.

"Alice, hope didn't run away," I lied, trying to sound convincing, for her sake—for whatever part of her was still inside her. "I'm here to get you out, okay? We're going to run this time—far away."


	5. Chapter 5: The Lost

"You can cage the singer but not the song." – Harry Belafonte

* * *

Chapter 5: The Lost

* * *

Echoes of my past touched my, every now and then. Sometimes they were real, sometimes they weren't. Lately, it was getting hard to tell which was which.

Which…Witch…witchy things like my visions interfered. I saw them flashed—but they were lies. They lied! I couldn't trust them. There was no freedom. There were no people. I never had a family… What was a family?

Something snapped through my body, by head. My body twitched. I cried with the pain. I cried as the burning metal was lifted from my temples.

* * *

"Mary, Mary, _Mary_!" Mother cried—Oh, no. That was a long time ago. I didn't have a mother now.

* * *

"There you go, Miss Brandon," a nurse told me. "You're getting better every day now."

* * *

_It was a little porcelain ballerina. She had dark hair, with white skin, a white tutu, and pink ballet…but the figurine…_ No, that didn't exist. That was a dream. Just a beautiful dream.

* * *

_"When I get you away from here I promise to take you there," he whispered seductively. _

_"To where?" I wondered._

_"To anywhere you wish."_

* * *

Dr. Mencken's death…

* * *

_"Merry Christmas, Alice," he whispered._

* * *

_"This is my choice," I verified. "I want this…"_

* * *

"Happy Birthday, Mary," Mother cheered. "Aren't you going to say hello?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ma'am, she can't," the nurse apologized. "It's part of the treatment."

"What have you done to her?" Mother cried.

"She was ruined enough before," a man grumbled. "Now what do we do with her?

* * *

_The man who was to free me—the vampire…_

* * *

_"Where is Mr. Colopatiron?" someone—someone—a woman…asked_.

I knew her, didn't I? No, not possible.

* * *

The shock! Oh, my tiny ballerina…trapped in a cage…

* * *

"Then she was dead. Dead, dead," I chanted under my breath, unknowingly aloud. It had been days since I had last had contact with anyone…or had it been minutes?

I was on the floor. I had been laying there a while. Had anyone noticed me? No. I was all alone. There was no one else. For months, there had been no one else.

I heard movement—but I couldn't tell if it was in my head or not.

Not that it mattered. They all said it was all in my head. Them—they—whoever they was.

"Alice? Can you hear me?" A voice—who was it? Was he talking to me?

Remember memories, I reminded myself. Images pressed into my forward. My dear Mother, my Mother…

"Coward," I breathed sneeringly, grabbing my shoulders and shaking my head roughly. "I saw him. _I saw him_! Oh, Charoum. _I saw him_. Hope—hope—I saw him—I saw hope. There's always hope. But he ran away!"

"Alice, hope didn't run away," the voice cried hoarsely. "I'm here to get you out, okay? We're going to run this time—far away."

I sat up in a jolt of fear. I looked around the room, unseeing. "Run," I warned. "You have to run. Run, Cynthia… Run… Don't! It's fine. It has to be fine. Bella, Bella, Bella. It's him again. _Again_—it's him! He's back! You dastard—you monster—you ruined _everything_!" I was screaming by this point, and the cool hand that had touched my cheek pulled back. "Caspar—hates—hate you're—you did it—Caspar—Caspar—Caspar—my Jaspar—Jasper… Oh!" I fell backward to the floor now and started giggling.

I giggled. I giggled. Ha. Giggled. Giggled, giggled, and giggled. Giggles.

"Alice…," the voice whispered tentatively.

"Jasper," I giggled again. I rolled onto my stomach and mumbled the name again and again into the floor. Into the floor. Into the floor.

The floor was cold.

"Alice, can you recognize my voice even?" the voice questioned.

"Lewis and Clarke," I blurted. "Congrats to you! Adieu! Adieu!"

"It's me, Charoum," he said, answering his own question.

I stopped giggling. I maneuvered my body to sit up. It was difficult to do with my arms strapped behind my back, but I had it almost mastered.

"Charoum," I tested. It sounded familiar. Was it a place or a person?

A flash of fangs, the feel of ice on the skin, and the warmth of blood gushing from my head hit me with such force that I slammed to the floor. Oh, the cold floor again. How cold! How cold it was—is—were—will be! It reminded me of the ice. Oh, the ice—ICE! What did it mean? I was too cold to think?

I lurched away from cold hands that were wrapped around my arms.

"Oh, Mr. Collins! Mr. Collins. Murder…murder…murder…"

"Do you remember that?" the man asked—as if I could remember! Memories couldn't remembered! How silly of him! They were only painful, painful pain.

"I regret it," I sighed, giggling in between statements of a serious nature. "I regret accusing him. I don't recall his name, but it was rather lovely. Quite like my Jasper. Oh, I have to find him yet, but I don't know how. Then I have to find the doctor! The doctor, I am sure, will fix me up. I think I can remember things—if he helps. Doctors are smart, are they not? Doctors—unlike that frightful character—what was his name? He killed Mr. Collins," I explained, not sure why something warm and wet was trickling over my cheeks. "He wasn't very nice, but how was I to know? I can't seem to know what is—only what will—what will happen to—?"

I cut myself off. I didn't dare to ask what would happen to me. I wasn't sure who I was talking to, and I couldn't bear it if my question wasn't answered again.

I sighed. I heard someone breathe beside me. I hadn't realized that I had closed my eyes. That so often happened to me that I didn't bother to open them.

"I was to die," I told this breather beside me.

"No, Alice, I saved you," he said, with pride in his voice. But, when he spoke again, it was all shame. "At least, I saved you the best I could. I hope you can forgive me for what I have caused to happen to you."

"You caused nothing, sir," I assured him. "I am perfectly—perfectly—perfectly—lovely—content. Besides, I can't forgive. I can't feel. I don't feel. Don't feel because, always because. Ever get that, sir?"

"Get what?" he whispered sadly.

"Because?" I re-asked.

"Because what?"

"Because," I clarified. "People do that to me all the time."

"They won't anymore, Alice," he promised me. He took my chin in his hand and kissed my cheek. At least I think it was a kiss, it felt too much like press my cheek against an icy wall that bent and moved.

Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered. There was nothing.

In moments, I would… No—no! I wouldn't listen to them—they would speak, but I would not hear. I would see it—that girl with the short black hair, skin as pale as death and gray lips—but I would not watch her scream. I didn't want to know what that fire was. I would forget.

I wouldn't feel trapped or encaged either. I would feel nothing. _I would not be trapped by the fire_. I was fast; I would run.

"I can't take you from here like this, Alice," the man apologized. "I can't let you suffer like this. I can't withstand it, to someone I love in such pain…again."

"Only once," I laughed. "No pain here. I shook my head and began bashing it against the wall behind me—where had the wall come from?—when visions started to flash inside my head.

A hard hand stopped my head from moving.

"Thanks," I said. "I couldn't figure out what was making it move like that!"

"I am going to save you, Alice," he promised in a feverish tone. "Before we leave, before James tracks me down again, I am going to save you."

I felt slobber over my lips. Was I supposed to swallow that stuff? Yuck! It was better to let myself drool.

Wait—what was drool? It sounded like a fun word! Word—words…words… Wake up again.

"To save you, Alice," he whispered, his stony lips brushing against my ear. I felt a shiver run through my body. Everything around me froze—and not just to turn to ice, but to stand still. The thoughts in my head, even, which were rushed and confusing before, seemed to slow. I was able to focus.

"I have to trap you to save you," he warned. I concentrated on his voice. My soul reached upward, alertness dragging me toward some sort of surface where there was light. My eyelids flickered. Ah, yes. That was what I was looking for. I wanted to open my eyes—to see who this person was—this person who promised to save me.

"Please, forgive me, my Alice," he murmured, softly brushing my cheek, my face, my neck, with his cool fingers. "Forgive me. I do love you. This will save you, my little bird."

"Nnnnnn—NN," I mumbled through frozen lips. I forgot the word I was going to say, so I continued with the consonant. "Nnnnn!"

"Ssh, ssh," he hushed, pressing his finger to my lips. "There will be time for words later. You have to be silent now. The pain, I apologize will be…brutal, but not much more than you have already experienced through the shock treatments."

I screamed. For some reason those two words together caused that reaction in me. But the bright side to that was that I found my lips. I knew how to locate my throat and make air move from my lungs to my throat. I could speak.

"Who? Who? Who?" I asked, vibrating my body, trying to retain some warmth. I sounded like and owl. "Do I… Do I know you—you, sir?"

"Once the pain is over, I promise I will explain everything you have forgotten," he swore. "You can trust me, Alice."

"I'm sure she can—wait," I paused myself, "Am I Alice?"

"Yes you are, Alice," he answered me, with a smile in his voice. And, somehow, his voice could remind me of what a smile was.

"Then who is Jasper?" I wondered, not sure if it was aloud or not.

"Another vision, my petite?" he said. I assumed I had spoken aloud.

I shrugged—I think. "Not sure."

"We'll find out together."

I nodded for a while. His lips touched mine, then both of my cheeks, and then, finally my throat. I felt something pierce my skin. My body stiffened and shot upward. I struggled against the pain.

"Stop!" I cried, trying to yank the stony arms off me. "Stop—stop—stop!"

I felt him pull away. His breathes were ragged. The cold was no longer touching my skin.

From far away, he asked "Do you feel anything?"

"It hurts," I muttered pathetically, almost sobbing. "Ouch! Why? Why does it hurt so much! It's hot."

"That's good enough, Alice," he laughed. "I've just about saved—"

He voice cut-off. I wondered for a second if he was gone, but then a large bang caught my attention. I rubbed at my neck, trying to stop the weird liquid that gushed from it. The warmth spread through my neck. The bang was followed by two sets of snarls and roars—like how I imagined lions from Africa would sound. Africa…who had told me of Africa?

"You've spoiled the game," a loud, unhappy voice snarled.

I opened my eyes. I knew that voice. How? I wasn't sure. But it was danger. I knew death followed that voice. I had to escape—I had to run. Now.

Just as I was prepared to lift my body from the ground—disregarding that my arms were still restrained behind my back—a burning so hot and so sharp impaired me. I collapsed backward, releasing a scream.

"Well, she's not yet too spoiled," the death-voice considered. "Maybe after I finish you, there might be a chance for me still."

A loud snarl—a snapping—more roaring—more banging—more snapping. I screamed through it all. I felt a cold stone—an arm?—curl around my and pick me up. Another part of the stone covered over my lips, blocking my panting and screaming. The stone moved forward with speed I couldn't have imagined. I closed my eyes to withstand the air that was penetrating my eyes. I held my breath because the force of the movement sucked my lungs dry. The stone and I didn't slow for a while. When he did, I noticed, because he bit my neck again.

I screamed as the double-dose of bite spread the fire faster. It was excruciating—but, as the earlier voice had promised, only a little more painful than that last…what was it called? A treatment? Was it called a surprise treatment? No, that wasn't the word… I lost the train of thought when the fire reached my heart. The intensity doubled. Maybe it hurt double the treatment had.

"It burns!" I cried when we had stopped.

"I know," a rough voice muttered quickly, "but stay quiet."

"Help me," I begged. "Help me put it out. Water! I need water! Please!"

"I can't put it out, Alice."

A large sob escaped my lungs, but I held it for a second, cut it off as the pain lashed at me again.

"Then kill me!" I demanded. "You have to kill me! Anything to stop this, please!"

A sad, slow sigh, sounded. Familiar…but…slowly, the voice was lost to me. Its familiarity vanished. The cold…the cold was the only familiar. The burning was too hot—too awful. I didn't understand it.

A large scraping—something hard, stiff, rough—echoed beside my ear. My body was moved, lowered into something cold and hard. It was darker in there. It was big enough for a body to fit into. Being small, I fit enough to squirm around and twitch in pain inside of it.

"Stop the fire! It's inside me!" I spoke to the air—the cold, cool air—hoping it would give me some of its low temperature.

"This will save you, Alice," a voice promised. It belonged to a face above me. At first, I recognized him. I knew his name, too. But, as the fire seethed and ripped in my eyes, as sight became painful, searing horribly, I lost him.

I didn't know him. I didn't know his name. I didn't know why he was above me. He spoke, and the burning touched my ears, and his voice sounded distant. Silent screams exited my throat, but I did not know him. I forgot all things. I could remember words—I could scream—scream at this stranger and tell him to stop the fire! I could remember that. But…who was I?

"I'll come for you if I can," the stranger told me. His head jerked backward, eyes wide in shock, and he raced away—but not before sliding a cement lid over me. All light was cut out from my vision, except for the tiniest sliver of a triangle, to which I centered my cornea under. I stared up at the light, mouth wide, lungs gasping, and fingers stretched upward toward the light.

Caspar…

Mother…

Cynthia…

Charoum…

Biloxi…my entire existence in Biloxi, Mississippi…

Dance…my ballerina figurine…

My ballet…

Mary Brandon…

…all of it was gone.

All that was leftover was Alice.

* * *

_"Alice…"_


	6. Chapter 6: The Wanderer

"When twilight drops her curtain down and pins it with a star, remember that you have a friend though she may be far." – Unknown.

* * *

Chapter 6: The Wanderer

When you wake up to find yourself in a dark place (literally speaking), many questions come to mind. For me, only one was important.

Who am I?

My memories were gone. Clearly I had amnesia or something, because I understood everything, I grasped the concept that I had indeed forgotten, but I just couldn't remember what is was I had forgotten. I was sure I remembered all the words of the language I had been taught—and my…my…well, my _someone_ had taught me a few words in French, someone else a few words in Spanish…and somehow I knew one word of Italian: Bella. Oh, and I knew how to speak a few words of Latin…although I hadn't the slightest inkling of what they may mean. But that was only language.

I tested my mind for hours puzzling over words I knew, forming thoughts in my head, slowly feeling each muscle in my body move as I tested each word. So I was sure, after a time, that everything worked. I wasn't injured or damaged. My brain—most of it—was intact. My body felt whole, and better, somehow, although I couldn't recall what it had felt like before. I searched my mind again concentrating on regaining some other hint of who I was, other than the language I spoke.

I knew I lived…not in Spain or France or Italy…somewhere that English was most commonly spoken. I seemed to have the most grasp on that particular language. So, what countries spoke English? England of course…but that didn't fit right. I spoke aloud to test my accent.

"My name is Alice," I said.

I was startled. I nearly laughed out of excitement. I had a name. What a miracle! That was at least one puzzle solved. My name was Alice. Did I have a last name? I must have, right? I couldn't remember it…but I knew I did have one…at one time or another.

My accent was definitely not British or English, in terms of country. The accent though, did hint, itching at my memory. I guessed I must be in an unfamiliar place. I checked my surroundings.

That was unhelpful. It was dark. There was a crack of light above me. I pushed my hands up to move the cement above me aside, if I could. I pushed and—to my even greater shock—the cement flew upward. With a single push, I had pushed the entire thing off me—and cracked it. I sat up quickly. I glanced around to find where the cement block had landed. I had no clue where it was. Then, it came sailing downward from above me. I jumped out of the way before it hit my head. And that was strange. Somehow, I had seen it just a few seconds falling distance above my head, and I was now several feet away from it—from the _tomb_ I had been in. Yes, a tomb—and the cement block had been the cover. I had lifted a tomb cover off of me. And all those events took place in less than one second—_in a tomb_.

Call me crazy, but somehow, the good Lord had gone and raised me from the dead. I nearly started crying out hallelujah, when I realized that I didn't know that for certain. I had no account of dying—not that I had any memory at all of my past—and although I was sure in there for a reason, I didn't feel that I had been 'raised' from the dead, exactly. More like, I had passed from one existence to the next. I thought about reincarnation…but why would I be reborn into a body in a tomb?

I looked down at my body. I recognized my body. My mind registered it as my own. I didn't think that would happen if I had memory of another existence and I was reincarnated. I was certain this was my original body.

Although, there were clear differences, from what my eyes picked out. When had I ever been so pale? Was I always so pale? Like Snow White, with skin as white as snow? Was I some sort of demon raised in a deceased body? And had I always been so beautiful? Not to sound egotistical, but why did I have to be buried away with the dead if I looked so extravagant? I couldn't see my face or my hair—which felt short and messy, so I figured it wasn't that pretty—so I couldn't truly tell if I had some misshapen feature or deformity there. I hoped I didn't, but I couldn't remember at that moment.

All in all, I didn't look dead, but not quite alive. I felt strong, beautiful, radiant, swift, and—thirsty. The thirst overtook my so quickly that I clutched my hands around my throat. My throat burned, begging to have the thirst quenched. My stomach was almost non-existent, so there was no hunger. There was only thirst. It hurt to breathe, to feel air against my dry throat, so I stopped breathing.

I stopped breathing. I waited expectantly for my lungs to demand air. I couldn't remember the feeling of the hurt of empty lungs, but I knew it would come. So, I waited, trying to keep any oxygen from scarring my raging throat. But, nothing changed.

I probably stayed still for an hour, hands around my throat, lungs still. Nothing hurt more than my throat. Everything else was perfect. So perfect, in fact, that I got worried. For what mortal creature never feels any pain, feels such perfection in every feature? Even my unreliable memory whispered to me of the pains of needing air. But it didn't come. I rested on my hip for another hour, holding the same position. My muscles didn't tire. Nothing felt weak or overused. There was no conflict in not breathing or not moving. I had been still for an hour, still as—no, more still that even stone. How was that possible? My mind told me it was irrational and impossible. I didn't know _why_ exactly, but it had to be.

I decided not to torture myself, since the thirst was so unbearable, so I stepped forward to the edge of the mausoleum, toward the staircase. I stepped up quickly, the burning thirst pushing me faster, and exited, needing no effort to open the stiff doors. I was more careful this time, so that I didn't break anything.

It was dark. My mind insisted that it was just before twilight. I nodded around. I was in a graveyard. I was a little spooked out—not because of the graveyard itself, but because I was going to exit the graveyard from one of the tombs. I pitied anyone who happened to catch me walking out.

I walked too quickly at first. I went at such a fast pace that the gravestones fell behind me, as if they were tiny ants and I was a strong, tall horse, racing by. I slowed just in time too, because an old man suddenly looked up. A younger man and a woman, who I assumed to be his wife, and children, who I assumed to be theirs, were around them. They were dressed in mourning clothes. I wasn't sure what expression was appropriate, so I simply bowed my head.

But the old man looked at me wide-eyed. He gasped. I could hear his heartbeat—it quickened.

"Father, what is it?" the younger man asked.

The old man gestured to me, his shaking finger pointing at me. I wasn't sure it was me he was pointing at, so I looked over my shoulder to see what could be behind me. There was a statue of a concrete angel behind me, with her wings stretched wide and her hands open, accepting to the souls of the deceased and the living. It was beautiful to look at, seeing as it was fairly new, but it was odd for him to be pointing at it. I turned my head back. He was definitely pointing at me.

The younger man was staring as well, not quite as wide-eyed, but his mouth was open. His wife—I was still assuming, for her hands were covered in cloves, so I couldn't tell if there was a ring. I narrowed my eyes and my sight focused on her hand. I saw the imprint of the ring into the glove. I was sure she was his wife now. They went well together. They both had lovely, warm-shaded skin, and her hair was a light brown, and his a dark brown. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold. All their eyes were puffy from crying. A lot. I read the gravestone they stood by. It was a woman, Philomena Mary Jarvis, birth being 1857. She had died January of the year 1921.

I remembered that year. I was nineteen. I had turned nineteen in 1920. I couldn't remember the date of my birth exactly, but I knew it wasn't my birthday until much later in the year. January was the first month, so I must have been in the tomb for at least one week. That was a scary thought. I now knew that when I had dreamed laying there still in panic for a long while wasn't an exaggeration or a dream. In fact, I must have been laying there awake, in a panic, trying to figure out what I could remember and what I couldn't for at the very least four or five days. And how long had I stood there testing to see how long I could go without breathing? Had it been an hour or a day?

The woman—the wife—clapped one hand to her face and she gasped. Her other hand reached to gather her children close to her skirt. I thought at first, she was in awe of my tomb-awakening; that she somehow knew about it; but that didn't match her expression. I studied it for a moment, reading the faces of the others around her as well, and I figured it out. It was a mixture of shock and fear. They were afraid of me.

I felt their terror. I hated feeling it directed at me. I turned my head and clenched my jaw. I walked away from them with as much dignity as I could manage.

Unintentionally, I listened to their voices. With keen ears—which I was sure had something to do with me waking up in a tomb—I could hear them even when I was ten feet away.

"What was she?" the husband wondered.

"Her eyes! They were red!" the wife cried quietly, aiming her voice away from her children.

"Do you think she is a devil, Anna?" her husband mocked. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not—I'm only saying she had red eyes, Jonathan," the wife snapped. "That's frightening. And those clothes! My Aunt Delilah is in a mental ward and she's crazier than a bird after brandy and they put her in one of those—looks just like it! They call it a straight-jacket, in some circles. It's to prevent the insane from injuring themselves—or others. I think she's escaped from that place down on fifth and Burly."

"That's possible," the husband agreed. His voice was getting quieter, now that I was approaching the gate of the graveyard and they could probably no longer see me. "Maybe those eyes are because of some experimental drug."

"You would know all about that wouldn't you," the wife scoffed. "You are a doctor, aren't you, my dear Dr. Ramsey?"

"She's no devil," the old man announced. His heart slowed when he paused. "Nor is she any kind of demon," she continued. He smiled.

"She's no angel, Father," the husband, Dr. Ramsey, argued.

"Perhaps not," the old man said. "Perhaps, yes." He lowered his head at that.

_"Carlisle you have to save him," a beautiful woman demanded with her light, wheat-colored hair weaving around her face, and then settling about her back and shoulder. Sunlight poured over her skin, and it glistened like snow under a sunbeam. Her eyes were wide. "Please, you have to."_

"Do you want to trap him in this life with you?" a young man's rich voice asked, from somewhere in the shadow. His tone was packed with emotion, trying to influence her answer.

She merely stared at him in answer. Her eyes were as bright as gold and her expression thick with confidence. Her soft, full lips frowned.

The young man sighed. "She's made up her mind; there is, I am afraid, nothing I can do," he said. "She wants you to turn him." He paused. His eyes squinted and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "I have to leave. The blood…it is too much."

The young man with the golden eyes and dark bronze hair left the room, or drifted too far back into the shadows to be visible.

"Please, Carlisle, save him," the beautiful woman begged. She didn't cry, and she didn't look down at whatever was in her arms, but she seemed determined to protect whatever it was.

I drew in a steady breath. I wasn't sure what had just happened to me—a daydream, perhaps?—or was it a memory? I wasn't sure. I saw someone wave at me from my right then, so I turned to face him, to wait for him to approach me.

He was a tired-looking man, wearing old clothes, a nice, round-shaped hat, and carried large, decorated keys with him. They were gold or bronze colored. It was hard to tell with the light coming off them that way. I looked as the sun set in behind me for where the light might be coming from. It didn't make sense at that angle. It must have been reflecting off something else. There were spectacles hanging out of his chest pocket, so I knew his eyesight was poor.

"Excuse me, Miss," the man asked, who I assumed to be the grave keeper. His dress seemed to imply that particular rank and occupation. "You are not allowed to be here at this time. That family only got in because they paid extra and they had themselves a funeral this morning."

"This morning," I repeated. "When was that? I mean, sir, what's today's date? Other than January of the year 1921, that is."

His heart tripped a beat and then steadied. The way it heart beat change like that, I felt my muscles tighten. Was I worried for him? No. But was the feeling? I couldn't identify it.

"Got a little mixed up, did you?" The grave keeper grinned. "That explains it, then. The new rules were set in place after the fifth of January. It's the seventh now."

I peered at the ground. There was snow. I had no shoes on, but I felt no cold. It was January. The fifth of January and I knew that I had been set in the grave in December of 1920. I had at least one week, of January 1st to January 7th possibly accounted for…but what of the other days? I was going to need to assume that it was very late in December, after Christmas, if the timeline made sense. But when exactly had I been put in?

"You look familiar," the grave keeper said, interrupting my train of thought. "Do you come here often? A parent or cousin died recently, perhaps?"

"I can't remember," I answered honestly.

"What's your name?" he asked. He shifted his body, and a strange odor emitted, probably from him, toward me. It was…good. I paid no attention to that though; anything would smell good after being in a musty mausoleum.

"My name is Alice," I smirked, adjusting my shoulders to look as graceful and polite as possible. If I were a man, I would have offered to shake hands with him. Instead, I merely did the slightest of curtsies. I counted on that being polite, and hopefully not overdoing it. Maybe society rules had changes drastically in the amount of weeks I was unaware and entombed.

"Alice, huh?" he laughed, his breath releasing more good-smelling odor into the chilled air. "No last name?" He whistled. I shook my head. This caught him by surprise.

"Really?" he simpered. "How can you have no last name?" He crossed his arms over his chest and eyed me suspiciously with his non-squinty left eye.

"I'm sure I have one, I just seem to have misplaced it, you see," I sighed, using the effect of comedy to make fast friends with him.

It worked. He roared some laughter. I again stiffened as his heart changed pace.

"What sort of explanation is that?" he inquired.

I grinned. "The best I have," I explained. "You see, I have also misplaced most of my memory."

He stopped laughing and eyed my clothing, just as the wife had earlier. "Is that so? Any idea of where you might live?"

I knew he was getting suspicious, and I didn't want him to send me to that ward that the woman had mentioned, for it sounded dreadful, so I decided to lie.

"Oh, yes," I told him. "I come just a little further north. In"—I grasped for a name of a city, any city, and found one—"Chicago."

His eyes popped. "Chicago?" he questioned. He eyed me again and laughed. "Well, you don't say. That seems to match you up just right."

I smirked as my answer. I had a feeling Chicago was the right city to name.

"Fashion and society seem crazy up there these days," the grave keeper groaned, eyeing me for a third time. "I have a couple younger cousins up there, twenty years my younger, 'bout mid-twenties. I worry for 'em. Chicago is full of bustle, so I hear."

"What place isn't bustling these days?" I interjected, before he had a chance to start questioning me about a city I knew nothing about expect its name. "The war is over!"

Right! Thank you, my dear, _dear_ memory! Just in time it delivered a perfect bit of info. I hadn't even recalled there had been a war until that moment. The war to end all wars, they said. It was finally over. I remembered it being horrible, but I couldn't remember exactly why—other than it being a war. I wondered it if had any personal affect on me. Had I known someone who had fought? Had I known someone killed in it?

"That's old news but good news," the grave keeper agreed. "Hopefully that's the end of those matters forever."

I nodded. I had chosen a topic wisely. Now, where was I to go? I was so thirsty…and the grave keeper's beating heart suddenly was making my mouth water…and the scent was good, appeasing to my nose…and my throat… I winced, struggling not to lunge at him. I squinted my eyes tight with the pain of resisting. I clenched my fists tightly.

"Hey, actually, I recognize you," the grave keeper rasped. His eyes widened.

My eyes flashed open. He jumped back.

"I didn't notice that—your eyes!" he gasped. His fingers clutched over his heart. He stepped slowly backward. I felt the thirst drag me toward him, one step closer every time he took one step back.

"That man brought you in here December the—the 29th, didn't he?" the keeper recited, his keys jangling as they brushed against one another. "I searched for you for days—but you were no 'ere to be found! When he left, I thought had gone killed you and left you here to rot!"

I paused and tilted my head. "A man brought me here?" I questioned. "Who was he? Did he know me?" I stepped forward, closing the two feet of distance between us so that I was right in his face. "How did he bring me here? And from where?"

The throat itched and was raw, but I refused to move. I wanted answers.

"I d-don't know if you knew him," he stuttered, shaking so much that his spectacles flew out of his pocket. "But he was covering your mouth and you were trying to scream!—but I couldn't help you, 'cause I was scared he might get me too!"

I grabbed his shoulder as lightly as I could manage under my thirst and sudden anger. He still whimpered and released a slight shriek when the pain set in.

"You didn't stop him? You believed him to be in want of killing some innocent girl and you let him pass?" I seethed with my eyes wide. Someone had brought me in her—just over a week ago I might have known who I was. Who was this person who made my memory vanish? "Did you know him from somewhere?"

"M-maybe," the keeper whinnied, trying to pull away from my iron-grip. "I thought I might have seen him delivering a body from the ward in Biloxi. We're just a small-town…and we have the cheapest graveyard. They like to dump their dead sick-headed people here."

"The mental ward," I muttered to myself. It was a curious thought.

I looked out the gate to the road. The wife had said that she believed that I could be escaped from the ward on fifth and Burly. Was I from there? Perhaps some worker there wanted to get ahead on burying me? Save time so that they could get out earlier? It was possible. But such a cruel person seemed hard for me to imagine.

"Are you sure?" I asked again, more excitedly, wanting no false answers. "He came from another ward? Or did he come from the one on fifth and Burly?"

"No, no! He came from Biloxi," he repeated.

"Where is Biloxi?" I demanded. I had no idea where such a place was.

"In Mississippi," he answered, "the state we're in right now."

"What country?" I hissed.

"The United States of America," he cried. His hands flew to cover his face.

"The United States of America, in Mississippi," I noted. "I must have been here before the tomb. That makes sense, doesn't? He can't have moved me any further than that, right?"

"Right," the keeper agreed.

I tilted my head and growled at him. "It was rhetorical, sir," I hissed. "I do not care for your answer on this."

"S-sorry, b-but, p-pl-please d-don't hurt me!" he stammered.

"I won't,"—I stopped. I couldn't make the promise. My throat reminded me of my burning need to quench my thirst. Without thinking, without time to search for water, my lips flew forward and my teeth sank into his flesh.

He screamed and wailed. But, within ¾ of a second, without effort, or meaning to, I had snapped his neck, and no more sound came from him. He twitched twice, and then moved no more. I drank and drank without a single thought passing through my mind. I thought only of how good it tasted, of how good it felt on my throat. I felt the substance strengthen me and make me feel powerful and sensationally beautiful, as if it added glow to my skin and intelligence to my brain. Somehow, every part of me was touched by the substance. Only after I had nearly drained him entirely could I name it. Blood was the substance.

I jumped away from his cold, motionless body as soon as the word came to me. Of course it was too late, and my newly strengthened mind reeled from the thought of what I just felt, of what was sharpening my senses so that I could a pigeon land on the building twenty-feet from me, and so I heard the murmur of the family from earlier coming up behind me, maybe twenty-five feet away. Blood—human blood—was the answer.

I wanted to cry. But nothing escaped my eyes. I felt only the air sob out of me as I realized what had happened. I was no angel, like the old man thought. I was a demon straight from hell. Whatever my human life was, I must have deserved my death and memory loss. God had no pity on my horrid soul, so I must have been sent from my tomb by the devil himself to do his evil works. Was I to spread famine and cruelty? Was I to terrorize people by the sight of me? By whatever they meant when the woman and the keeper and reeled from my eyes? Or was I merely to kill and bring death? Was that my destiny?

I sobbed for another minute, but my awareness of the family behind me told me to move. I ran to hide, at that same pace that made everything slow-paced ants behind me. Except, I knew it was because of my horrid, demon-power that made me fast, not because I had a renewed God-given chance on the earth. I had been dropped into Mississippi to be a sore in its side. The thought brought me nothing but despair.

But even as I thought of what a monster I was, how I wished I wasn't a monster, my throat already was burning again. My eyes darted back to the thicket of the streets behind me, and the human voices and heartbeats that came from there. I yearned to go back and devour every last drop of blood from that city.

I didn't. Each time I reminded myself not to go, to not be a monster, the burn hurt more. I hated it—I despised that someone would want me tortured enough to deserve this fate. How could the man who dragged me to the tomb as I screamed place me there knowing what was to become of me? I hoped he didn't. I prayed to God for his soul that he hadn't known what was going to happen.

I raced away from the city, from the roadways, train tracks and any sign of city. I travelled by following the sun, moving westward. I travelled by day and night, for I soon discovered I had no need to sleep. I was tortured by that fact the first two weeks, unable to escape the thirst through sleep, unable to dream again. I had hoped that my dreams might return some of my lost memories. But, staying constantly awake helped me to be aware of when I came to close to humans and when I was too close to the animals in the wilderness.

I was afraid of the larger animals finding me. I was selfish enough that I didn't want to risk my life. Knowledge from some unremembered past told me that coming face-to-face with a bear would surely be the death of me. No black bears were going to end my life—unless the thirst got to great for me to handle. Only then would I sacrifice my life for that of a human's.

I was travelling westward because there was less population there, but I knew that with more recent movements, the west was expanding more so. The chances of me finding people on the east coast were equal to those on the west. I decided that staying in the middle was best. Of course, that only led to me finding out on peculiar bit of info.

When I walked by a large puddle from rain the previous night, I caught my reflection. I was certainly pretty, despite the hell-fire red eyes. I nearly ran away from my reflection in fright, but, something strange caused me to stop. It was midday, the sun was high, and I was sparkling more than the diamond on a lady's engagement ring. The fancy kind of diamond ring that rich wives wore; not the common ring with the smaller rock. In fact, if not for my body shape, short spiky hair, and facial expressions, I could be a diamond. I had accidentally experimented with a tree in a fit of rage in my third week of travel, causing it so snap, and trying to removed my teeth with rocks had only caused the rocks to crumble. Diamonds were tough, as my skin was. I knew, somehow, that a diamond hitting the floor from the top of a staircase didn't cause it to break. That was sturdy for jewelry.

I was trapped by the thirst. Encaged and entombed in a new form of doom. Not death this time, but torture. Not panic or sorrow or strange excitement, like when I crawled out of the tomb. It was fear—of me, of what I was, of where I came from, of what I needed to do to survive…or if I needed to sacrifice my existence for the lives of others… I was encaged in constant thirst—and I so badly wanted to be freed from it. I lay awake under the stars; wishing one of those bright lights would listen as I cried out in desperation. I wanted to be saved from the loneliness I felt, wandering with no one, avoiding the humans I could hurt in a fit of thirst.

I found after four weeks of rotating my walking patterns for four weeks in the middle of nowhere that there were only two causes to my unhappiness. It had nothing to do with what I was or who I was. That meant nothing compared to the two most important pains. 1) My thirst. That was obvious and required no thought. 2) My loneliness. I figured that out after I started trying to communicate my thoughts with the stars.

Being so without company was rattling my will. I wanted to find any human to converse with, if only to give myself a chance at staying sane. I wanted to speak with someone, to express how I was feeling. But it was unsafe. It would only bring my guilt if I killed someone, and I didn't want that. Something told me that it was a bad thing to kill. I was sure of it.

Well, I was less sure every day. Each new sunrise reminded me I was thirsty. Each new sunset reminded me I was alone. I needed to fulfill my desire for both—or else go mad. And worse than madness, I feared that I was be so sad, so dark inside that I might want to be that monster—because there was nothing else to be.

When I came close to people, I severely warned myself to turn around. Several times I saw flashes of the most frightening things. I had no idea how real imagination could feel to me; but it did. My mind would pull at me and show me images of myself, with blood within my reach, faces of humans I had fed on, slumped into the mud. I was smiling with red eyes. I saw others like me, all with the same cold, smug expression on. A whole group of killers attacking the innocents.

I shuddered at the thoughts my imagination brought me, and the more I shuddered, the more I feared myself, the less those sights of myself came. Mostly, I wandered without thinking much of my future or my past. My present was all there was. I had nothing to look forward to and nothing to look back on. And the thirst was building.

I had lost track of time again, but I was certain at least two months has passed since I wandered away from the graveyard where I had drank from the grave keeper. I had no strength, I was drained, I was enraged, and I wanted to fix one of my problems. I decided to run, instead of following the slow snail-pace I had used in the wilderness and forest cover. I ran and found myself head-to-head with a car travelling down the road. I stopped in the middle of the road, five-feet away.

The man inside the vehicle panicked and slammed on the brake. I stood where I was, waiting for him. The car's brakes locked and slid toward me, hitting me, of course. However, I felt not the force of the impact, nor the pain of the metal. I only noticed that it had hit me. I grinned at that. I was strong enough to be hit by a car. It had slowed slightly, but not enough for a normal person to withstand. Maybe not even a bear.

The man's body was pushed back from the force of the stop. His head hit the roof and I tasted the blood in the air. My mouth watered. I stepped around the door of the car. The man touched his head and stared at his fingers when he found blood there.

He looked up at me, down at his fingers and then back up at me within a second and a half. It took me half a second to open the door, trying not to attack him.

"What is the day today, sir?" I asked politely.

"March 23," he answered nervously. "W-who are you?"

I flashed my teeth in a bright grin. I wondered if his shaking was a reaction to my sparkling skin, my white teeth that could rip his jugulars out at any moment, or my surprising speed. Maybe he was just shaken from the crash.

"My name is Alice," I introduced. "Oh, but don't tell me who you are." I closed my eyes and breathed. The scent overtook me. I made for a dive, and drunk him dry. I felt horrible, since he had been kind enough to answer my question, and that I had caused his crash, but I needed more.

My throat renewed its burn for blood. I had almost forgotten the taste of fresh human blood from that first time. It strengthened me and pleasured me. I wanted nothing more of my existence than blood. I wanted the power it gave me. I wanted its life-force.

I ripped away from the man's corpse and darted across the road. I dashed into the trees, hearing more cars in that direction. I heard heartbeats. I heard the noise of a city. There was only this mere brush in the way. Once I passed through the greenery and animals, I could take the city as my own—drink of its people and build my strength. I wanted it all. I wanted every last drop. I wanted to hear every last beat of every heart and laugh as the beats died out. I wanted—I stopped dead.

Suddenly, a heartbeat was closer than expected. I heard her feet, dainty and small. Her fast heart beat toward me. Her small, child-sized heart drew close. Her pigtails neatly tied in her soft, light hair. Her bright-blue eyes darted through the bush, searching for her ball. Her small, full lips curved to a smile.

"I found it, Danny! I found it!" she called over her shoulder. She took the ball in her small, fragile hands and raced back to the street, back to her home.

I didn't move. I was stone as she moved to pass me by. Her delicate heartbeat stung me. I thought of how badly I had wanted to kill this child. Not her specifically, but all because of the precious blood inside her. If I had tears to cry, I would have. As it was, I couldn't cry, so I turned around to hide in the forest again.

I sobbed tearlessly for hours. It was hours before my thirst became enough to consume me. The child was almost forgotten. I told myself to go around to the other side of the city, avoid taking a child's life. Still, the guilt of knowing that I had wanted that child was more painful than the burn in my throat. I thought about the grave keeper. He had young cousins in Chicago. Had he been close to them? Would they miss him? Did he have a sister or a brother? Did he have children? The man who crashed into me could have been that young child's father for all I knew.

The guilt from that final thought tore at me, but I couldn't slow. My thirst drove me forward and I needed to wet my throat. I wanted the warmth and strength of blood. I required it for any hope of happiness. I needed blood.

I sped through the final throngs of bushes, and turned around again. Agony tore at me. I had to turn around again…to reach the blood and all those heartbeats… But I had to protect that little girl, and any other precious life like hers. My life was not worth any more than anyone else's. I needed to respect that.

My body twisted back and forth, trying to get into the city and trying to avoid it. I screamed and chucked trees deep into the wood. It took hours of toiling with me and all the shrubbery around me to final notice one crucial thing.

Something dug into my temples, my mind and dragged my backward—or forward—to someplace my body wasn't. I observed a forest scene, with two figures racing by.

_The older went left, chasing some strong, muscled venison. The second chased down the middle, swerving to the right often. He was silent as the night, making no noise, no crunch as his feet drifted over leaves, roots and earth. He was the wind, moving freely without anyone able to tame him. He was young and fast—maybe as fast—maybe faster—than me. His lips pulled back and he growled ay something ahead. A roar from a creature ahead caused him to smile. He had tracked a mountain lion and using his hands, his teeth, his body and senses, he killed the beast. The wild, fierce cat-like creature was taken down. The hunter drank the lion's blood_.

With that conclusion, my mind swept back into my body. I heard my lungs gasp. I froze and listened around me.

There was a heartbeat a foot away from me. The smell wasn't as good, but it was there. It wasn't as delectable as what I had tasted before, but the aroma was tolerable. I bent down and with my hand moving as quick as a viper's strike, picked up the fury creature. It bit me with its two front teeth, but it broke its own teeth in the process. I felt nothing. I dug my teeth into its side and drank the rodent-creature's blood. It didn't taste all the good, but I felt some strength in me. My throat burned less, just as it did when I drank of humans.

I immediately sent off to scavenge for a larger animal. I listened intently for movement, keeping my nose intent on all the scents, keeping an extra tab on the breeze. I caught my luck when the breeze picked up something larger, meatier. Smellier, in the sense of disgust, also, but I hoped that was a good sign. I followed the scent and—with great surprise—found myself behind a black bear. It was double my size—and probably double my weight—but the challenge encouraged me. I knew my skin was hard and strong, and that I was physically stronger than normal, so maybe I had a chance. If not, at least the bear would finish me off.

The bear spotted me and growled, warning me off. It faced me and growled some more. I growled right back. It was actually…fun. My body itched at the chance of facing the bear. I wasn't sure how to go about it though, so I stood still and straight. I hoped that crouching wasn't the better way to go about it. Would that look fiercer?

The bear understood my intention after my growl and a good round of guttural snarling. I bared my teeth and found myself grinning. I took steps toward the bear. The bear reared up on its hind legs and roared at me. I growled again and faked an approach. I took one step forward and one step back. The bear then had enough by that point. It felt threatened and I felt enticed. It charged at me. I merely stepped to the side as it blindly barreled forward. In the bear's confusion of not crashing into me or finding me, I took advantage of it. I didn't want to risk being weaker than the bear in a fair match, so I jumped on its back, dug my hands into his (or her) throat and stabbed in. I ripped out whatever I could and bit its hind quarters when that was finished. The bear reared and whined in pain. I took that as I sign I was winning. The bear thrashed and clip my shoulder, but I felt no pain. The force did move me a bit, but I settled back onto the bear's back and took him (or her) down. He (or she) whimpered and cried bearishly as I drank its sweet, sweet blood.

The taste was no comparison to human blood, but it sufficed wonderfully. I found myself strengthened and my senses rejuvenated—not to mention I felt so excited and relieved that I didn't have to be a monster! I owed that to whomever those two were—the two like me—and especially the one who was fast enough to catch the monstrous cat.

The second I stepped away from the bear, having drank all his blood (yeah, I checked), my mind ran from me again. Swiftly, it moved to another scene, another world, maybe. It was warm—but in a dark place. There was wood—I could smell it, but not forest. There were people there—humans—and there were drinks clinking in the background, the odor of alcohol thick on the breaths of the men. My vision scanned around to the bar, and then moved around in a dizzying pattern until it came around and I saw…

Well, I recognized him for being the same as me, as blood-drinker, because of the red-burgundy irises, pale-skin and the way his eyes watched the people around him with a lust in his eyes. But there was more to him in that single flash of his face. There were scars like crescent-moons on his neck, around his jaw, and—but his face! Somehow, he was a monster like me and he had such a face! How could that belong to anyone but an angel? Maybe I was over exaggerating, but the expression in his eyes, and the contortion in his frown made me want to rush toward him and do anything I possibly could to help him.

Maybe I could help him. Maybe he was like me, unsure how to avoid killing humans. He could be in the same predicament as me, with memories lost and ambitions set on only blood and finding some way out of lonesomeness. From the brief glimpse of his face, I knew what my destiny was. Perhaps there was more to it, important and vital to my existence, but to the very core of my destiny was him. Whoever he was, he was my core.

(- _March 24, 1922_.)


	7. Chapter 7: The Years

_"We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams." – said by Willy Wonka, in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (Original—and best!!!—version)._

* * *

Chapter 7: The Years

* * *

JUST TO LET YOU KNOW, THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER IS WRITTEN IN A DIFFERENT STYLE, AS IF ALICE HAD WRITTEN DOWN THE DATES OF SIGNIFICANT EVENTS. OR AS IF SHE WROTE A DIARY.

THE ITALICS ARE HER VISIONS. (No kidding, eh?)

ENJOY.

* * *

- April 14, 1922.

There had been no sign of where to go or how to find him. I had several more of those strange…'visions'…for lack of a better term, but none involved location. Mostly I had seen flashes of when bears were coming, or when large venison was near. I saw his face many more times, but now, it was clearer, as the scars would increase each time. I watched him face others of our kind. I wasn't sure what the battle was about, but it sure explained why he would wear such a sore expression. I could only hope that when I reached him I could help him in some way. I felt the sting as each jaw snatched at his skin. I wanted to touch each scar and sooth the pride in his face, and the confusion in his eyes.

- May 2, 1922.

I saw someone else. It wasn't him this time. It was a woman with caramel-colored hair, dark cold eyes, and a soft, motherly smile. Everything about her was sweet-natured and lovable. She was slender, and seemed to flutter about wherever she was. She was married to a doctor, as I saw her frequent a hospital often and ask for her husband. She was worried when she spoke to him, but always came out smiling. I wondered what it would be like to have someone like her in my own life. Would it be like holding a bottle of sunshine or holding onto a friend? I wasn't sure; I couldn't remember what friends were like.

_"I worry for Edward," the caramel-haired woman told her husband in private. "From what you have told me, he is such a wonderful boy. I want to meet him so badly."_

_"He has made his choice, and I can only hope that he chooses right in the end," her husband sighed. "Whatever is right…for him."_

_"If your account of him is accurate, he will come back," she insisted. "I am sure of it."_

_The doctor smiled. He kissed his wife, and she, too, smiled._

_"Thank you, again, Carlisle, for saving my life," she told him in a whisper, "in so many ways."_

_"I love you, Esme," he whispered as his kissed her again._

_Her arms softly wrapped around his neck and inclined into the kiss._

- June 22, 1922.

I discovered hunters in the area—human hunters. It became difficult to avoid them when they insisted on hunting _my_ meals. In fact, it became impossible when one crossed my path. He tripped, cut his leg, and accidentally fired his rifle, practically killing himself. I only felt some guilt in finishing the job. But that was my last. Never again will I intentionally drink a person's blood in order to sustain myself or personally benefit myself. No life is worth destroying to bring pleasure into my own. (And I'll be wary of more hunters in the future.)

- October 29, 1922.

The bears seemed to be very good at learning to hide from me. Either that, or there weren't many left.

- January 16, 1923.

I think I might have killed the last bear.

- July 8, 1923.

It wasn't the last bear, thank the Lord, but I must be more careful. I almost starved—well, rather risked the lives of humans due to a unsecure stock. Perhaps I have been in this area too long? I don't want to leave. What if I don't have visions of my scarred angel anywhere else in the world? I'm afraid to leave his face behind.

- May 9, 1924.

I tried to move, but I feel such a pull here. Why this spot? I'm not sure. I heard some hunters earlier mention an Indian tribe straight across from where I am. A fair distance, I was sure, for a human to travel. It would probably need to involve train transportation. But the stories I overhear the hunters tell are fascinating. I tried to imagine visiting them once—after I have complete control of my want of human blood. I am improving…some.

- May 9, 1924.

I have become too familiar with the hunters' scents. They come too regularly and I am desensitized from their tastes. I was getting so close to being able to resist human blood…but if I left, would I be as strong? I think not. Leaving would mean retraining my nose to resist the sweet aroma of human blood. Besides that, where would I go?

- August 13, 1926.

I had successfully settled in again into another location. I decided to go north. It's colder here, but the further north I go, the larger the game seems to get. I much prefer the large wild animals to the deer I had been reduced to before I moved (…as I did not wish to overhunt the bears into extinction).

- January 3, 1928.

North was a bad idea. I prefer the warmth. It's time for a change, but where to go? I followed some birds for a while, wondering where they were headed for so long, but I got bored of them. I didn't want to follow them to the South Pole, after all.

- February 28, 1931.

_Esme looked up in surprise, smiling. Carlisle rushed to her side. The sound of footsteps in the door was a most joyous sound._

_"Edward," Carlisle greeted, "you're back."_

_The young man walked inside, face ashamed and worried. His eyes dropped to the floor. His arms were at his sides, itching to move. He seemed to want to approach Carlisle and Esme, but felt unwelcomed—or perhaps guilty. He seemed unsure of what to say at first. Esme's hands were on Carlisle's arm and they stood closely together. Esme admired the young man's looks, features, and shamed expression, and her eyes were alight with hope._

_He looked up quickly when Esme smiled at him encouragingly. He didn't smile back at, exactly. He had been wearing a frown and that dissipated. He took a breath and spoke._

_"I hope you can find it in your heart to take me back," he said. "I was wrong. This is the better path. Taking any lives…innocent or not, does not feel right to me."_

_There was only a second pause of silence. Carlisle beamed with pride. Esme's smile broadened._

_"Welcome back," Carlisle said, immediately wrapping Edward in his arms._

_"Thank you."_

_Carlisle released Edward, and looked back at Esme. "This is Esme," he introduced. "She is my wife."_

_Edward was surprised. He cocked his brow and looked at Carlisle. After a second, and a few glances at Esme, Edward smiled tentatively._

_"It's wonderful to meet you, Esme," he said._

- September 5, 1931.

I heard talk from some of the people in town that more banks were closing. I had no need for money, being in the wild…but I do wonder if I showed myself in town wearing the same thing I was wearing ten years ago if they would kick me out. As soon as the money is safe and the banks are back, I will have to buy something new. But how does one earn money as a vampire?

-March 10, 1933.

I had seen her before, this beautiful goddess. Her tall frame and radiant figure had come to me so long ago…but I remembered her as clearly as I could remember the feel of sunshine on my skin. Her eyes were dark red, however, which was different than before. Her eyes opened to scan what was around her. She sat up with lightening speed—the final proof that she was like me—not human.

_"Dr. Cullen?" she asked in a beautiful, empowered voice. "Where am I? What happened to…?"_

_She shook her head and set her hand to her forehead. She couldn't finish her train of thought. Her lips stayed open, adjusting to some sort of shock._

_"Is this truly real?" she whispered softly, closing her eyes, looking like an angel in suffering._

_She tucked a stray lock of her long, golden hair, pushing the wave of it over her shoulder. She straightened her back and looked pleadingly at the man she had called Dr. Cullen._

_"I hope you can forgive me for I have done to you," a man apologized. "I hoped to save you."_

- March 19, 1934.

I caught a few bears and skinned them. For some peculiar reason, they were actually bought. I had half expected my efforts were to be wasted, but they were not. The second I mentioned them, these pair of hunting brothers, who had to work in so many hours to be allowed to keep their jobs, who had no more time leftover for hunting, ripped at the chance to buy them. I'm not certain their wives were pleased, but at least I had a chance at new clothes. They didn't ask me too many questions either. I guess telling them that my older brother was the hunter and I just the seller made them less suspicious. Oh, and taking a good long bath in the river, thoroughly taking off any grime of blood off my skin and clothes helped too.

- June 2, 1935.

I sold some more skins, but not much luck there. I had enough for new clothes, but I felt that I should prepare more money for myself, in cases like this. How awful would it be if I met Jasper wearing something I had worn for three years straight? That wouldn't be too impressive. My world may be centered on him, but what were the chances his world was centered on me?

- June 5, 1935.

_Edward was in Carlisle's office. Edward paced the room with a flare of mortification, humor, and anger in his eyes, each emotion stronger with every step. Carlisle was taking notes and writing on files as Edward ranted._Anything_ for my family," she insisted, although she looked as if it were a great sacrifice._

_"Rosalie?" Edward laughed. "I think not."_

_Carlisle made no answer._

_"Esme is beautiful, wonderful, and makes me wish I knew my own mother," Edward continued. "She is my mother. I understand you wanting my happiness, and that Esme loves to dote on us—spoil us, even—but Rosalie!? How could you think of her? I can barely stand her vanity."_

_"Well, I'm happy to hear of it," Rosalie snapped, pushing open the door._

_Edward's step faltered. He stopped pacing. His eyes twisted to the painting of Paris on Carlisle's office wall._

_"I thought you were Esme," Edward muttered._

_"You hoped I was," Rosalie seethed. "Why did you bother to save me if you don't want me?"_

_Edward's eyes shot toward her. Their stares locked. His was soft and gentle and hers, upon seeing his, changed from hard to delicate._

_"Rosalie, although it was not my choice to save you, I am happy we did," Edward told her. "You've so quickly become part of this"—his eyes shot over to Carlisle—"family. I don't regret having you with us. I do regret that you are one of us…but not because of your company."_

_Rosalie smiled. "You can be sweet," she complimented._

_"Thank you," he accepted. "So can you."_

_She rolled her eyes and tossed her eyes over her shoulder. "Me? Sweet? I dare say I might blush," she laughed. "Of course, if that was possible…"_

_Edward squared his body with hers and sighed. Carlisle turned to face her and held his hands out apologetically._

_"But back to the point you were making," Rosalie recalled, "about not wanting me. I can understand it. I will not push the subject."_

_"Thank you, Rosalie. I had hoped you would say that."_

_Carlisle laughed under his breath and returned to note-making._

_She narrowed her eyes. "Anything for my family," she sneered._

_He then smiled sincerely, thankfully, but she crossed her arms, rage in her amber eyes._

_"You know very well that you are quite beautiful, Rosalie," Edward started, "but I never once thought of you in that way."_

_"Why not?" Rosalie demanded. "Have you seen many others of our kind far more fair than I? Or are you far too picky, Edward?"_

_"Picky…?" Edward mused. "I'm not sure."_

_"Come on, Edward," Rosalie prompted. "Don't you believe in love? Or is that strictly against the vampire laws?"_

_Edward puckered his brow. "I don't believe fate has that written out for me just yet," he replied._

_Carlisle eyed Edward sadly. Rosalie watched him speculatively._

- June 17, 1935.

I washed up, bought new clothes—the ones that seemed the most popular. They were fashionable enough, but not much like what I was used to wearing. It was less jazzy now—or jazzier, in some cases. The clothes, in my opinion, were not in good taste. I quickly found the need to alter them to look more like clothes I wore when I was human. The lady who sold me the clothes swore that my improvements were the loveliest design she had ever seen. She thought it a bit too advanced, since I was forced to shorten the skirt, since the older design gave no forgiveness to stay so long with my other alterations. I agreed with her, but pointed out that it fit with the overall look. On the spot, she hired me. Not as a full-time job, or even part-time. She hired me to help out, make alterations when a paying customer demanded one, and to suggest styles for those unsure of their fashion sense. I gladly agreed. So many women and men alike needed my help with their sense of what to wear. How had taste in clothing-wear deteriorated so much from when I was human?

- August 4, 1935.

_The bear reared and roared. The man, although thick and strong-looking, was no match for the beast. The man's limbs were torn at as the beat plunged its claws into the man. The man shouted and gasped at the pain. He grunted and hollered. He gave up screaming help._

_But just as his eyelids fell shut, with blood pouring from his matted hair, the bear was pulled off him. Out from the brush sprang the sweet-step of the blonde-goddess. She tossed the bear away, nearly taking of its arm in the process. She snarled and growled in feline fierceness. The bear growled, grunted, but didn't approach her closely._

_The goddess inspected the man's injuries from afar. Her eyes widened and lit up. Her arms stretched out, and in less than 2/10 of a second, she was holding him. She touched his curly hair, her eyes on him for only a moment, just a hint of a smile on her lips. After one look, she dashed forward, away from the bear, away from the forest, cradling the man in her strong, feminine arms. His appearance would make one assume that his weight and height—which towered over her so—would be too heavy for her, but she managed. However, there was a terrible look of pain, struggle and desire in her expression._

- April 16, 1936.

I had to quit today. Sophia and Maureen at the store will miss me, and I them, I am sure, but I must go. I saw a vision of him again—the centre of my world—a clear one. I had saved a little money, in case I have need of it, and now was the perfect opportunity to split. I took my money, took a new bag, two changes of clothes, and was on my way. I waved goodbye to Sophia and Maureen, secretly knowing they were glad to have less competition. I knew half the guys in town had their eyes on me. The other half were either married or smart. The smart ones gathered the message that I was taken. The smart ones went after girls like Maureen, who planned on quitting her job and being a good mother once someone asked her to marry. Sophia was a little wilder. She wanted to head off to another city, and try on some adventure. Personally, I told her, having a home is worth more than an adventure.

- October 7, 1936. AM

I was halfway to Tennessee, but I decided to take a stop and hunt down a large prey. I didn't want to be caught surprise by a town when I was thirsty. I would be better to be well-prepared.

- October 7, 1936. PM

_"Emmett!" Rosalie groaned. "Pay attention!"_

_The strong, muscular man with the dark curly hair sat up. He smiled apologetically. He had caught the scent on the wind and without thinking lunged. So much for hunting smaller herbivores._

_"I'm sorry, Rose," he said, in a deep, low, but beautiful voice. "I don't think I'll ever get used to this."_

_"No humans, Emmett!" she growled. Rosalie grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the human body. He had drunk almost have of the human's blood. "Now he's going to die."_

_Emmet looked shamefully at his human prey._

_"You promised me that this year would be clean," she reminded him sweetly, taking his face in her hands. "Please, remember that."_

_"I'll do it for you," he promised. "Never again will I touch human blood."_

_"Carlisle will be glad to hear of it," Rosalie beamed._

_He took his hands in hers—and hoped she didn't care about the blood on them—and held them to his chest. He kissed her forehead gently._

_"I'll remember, I swear," he whispered. He lowered his eyes to her level, bending. He took her chin and winked. "Now let's go a-hunting!"_

- July 22, 1937.

I traced my vision all over Mississippi, Tennessee, Alabama, and Louisiana. I had seen a vision of him pointing to a map, looking over at me—at me!—with me there with him!—with his finger in that general area. I wanted so badly to make that vision happen, to experience it. I wasn't sure where else to go though. I saw only the map, and remembered that vision of the dark, wooden place with alcohol. I could only assume a pub. My visions gave me no further direction that that. The environment surrounding him was too unfamiliar for me to recognize. I spent months in Louisiana. It felt like it was the closest to him, though I had no way of knowing if that was true or false.

- December 24, 1938.

I wished all night on every star that next Christmas Eve would be spent with him; that every day of my life would be next to him. Hopefully, the stars in Louisiana work the best.

- December 24, 1938.

_"This is for you, Rose," Emmett whispered as held her close to him. "For everything you've done for me. And for how wonderful you are."_

_"Don't break down on me now, Emmett," she teased. "No tears on Christmas."_

_He laughed softly—which was more like a quiet bark, because of the deep, firm tone. His eyes were alight with tender emotions._

- August 29, 1939.

I have heard many things from many people. As I am slowly more and more capable of being around humans, ignoring the longing for their blood, I talk to them more. Some say the war is a rumor, some say it's real. Some say they personally know someone already fighting in it. Personally, I wasn't positive in the first place that a war could ever end a war. So who on earth thought up 'the war to end all wars'?

- September 1, 1939.

I moved far north of Louisiana this morning. I'm not sure how far I'll go, but I know I want to stay south. He's somewhere in the south. I just haven't found him yet.

- May 4, 1940.

If anyone out there doubts it, they need a good bang on the head. World War declared as clear as a ringing church bell. Soldiers are being sent off left and right. My still heart breaks every time I hear a mother cry for her lost son, or a wife for a lost husband, or a child for a lost father or brother. I'm only glad that I can't remember anyone who I might otherwise be afraid for in this war.

- December 8, 1941.

There was an attack on Pearl Harbor yesterday. Everyone has heard of it. I can only hope that those affected keep their heads up. Not to be selfish, but I really hope he isn't involved in this war, that he's somewhere close to me.

- February 11, 1941.

_"I say we get involved," Emmett suggested. "The good guys have a better chance with us aboard."_

_"We cannot get involved," Carlisle sighed._

_"Why not?" Emmett's face fell._

_"The Volturi, for one thing," Edward mentioned. His face was empty. "We do not want to get ourselves noticed. It is one of their laws; to be unknown and secret."_

_"And this is a human affair," Rosalie added. "We shouldn't need to interfere."_

_"Aw, Rose, this is our world too," Emmett argued. "This war affects everyone."_

_"We can't do anything," Carlisle ordered. His voice was sad, his eyes were low, but his expression showed no sign of wavering._

_Emmett sighed disappointedly._

- March 3, 1942.

I know it isn't much, but I felt too guilty doing nothing. I have no skills as a nurse, but thankfully I can correct my mistakes at double the speed it would take any other nurse. Without any records it was hard to accepted in, but they need help. Plus, I've managed to save a few lives here and there, and then few bombs I have so far encountered have done nothing to me. Although, I am wary of the fire that spreads from the bombs. It makes me nervous. Logically, since my skin is as cold as ice, wouldn't it melt or dissipate if near too much warmth?

- November 29, 1943.

It hurts to bear it all and it hurts even worse seeing the blood and knowing that I want to have it for myself. How awful am I that my instincts are to kill rather than to save? But maybe vampires are perfect for a war in this case. Specialized in death, not in life; that's what war was all about. It was all death. Why couldn't I have the skills to heal and protect? What was the use of being immortal if I couldn't do that much? All I could do was bring some good cheer to the other nurses and put a smile on a soldier's face. What was that worth?

- June 20, 1944.

It was horrible. I hated it. I wanted out. I wanted it all to end.

- June 24, 1944.

_Esme touched each key with her fingertips. She played one note or two, but made no song. The piano was beautiful. She sat on the bench, staring at the white keys, with the faintest smile on her lips._

- June 27, 1944.

I was a worse risk than a benefit. I faked my death, body never found. I ran. Well, technically I swam. I returned to the southern states in search of him. Maybe if I had to explain my actions to him one day, it would all make sense to him. What kind of person was he? Would he understand me? Or would he be ashamed of how I bailed out? Would he understand that I was doing more harm than good? Or would he have told me to push myself, to pursue that path? Would he prefer I heal them as best as my abilities would allow, despite the pain in my throat as I ignored their blood?

I wanted to ask him so many questions. But would he care to answer them? Was he talkative, like I was? Or was he quiet? What did he like? When was he born? He could have been born before me or after me for all I knew. It had been so many years since awaking in the tomb. Had I changed at all? Was I a better person? Would he have preferred me then, as I was? Or who I am now?

Whatever the instance was, I was convinced that I would teach him to like me. I would be persistent and stubborn if I had to. He didn't have to revolve around me, but I wanted him to smile when he saw me, just I smiled whenever I caught a glimpse of his face in a vision.

- May 22, 1945.

_Edward approached the piano bench. He sat down on the bench and his fingers tested a few keys. He played a few chords, tested movements, and then played a song. It grew more elaborate as he practiced. And he practiced for hours._

- June 7, 1945.

_Edward, slowly, played new chords, new notes, and wove them together to form a beautiful work of sound. He practiced that twice, one he had finished composing it. With a smile, he turned around._

_"Esme, that song it yours," he said._

_Esme, who had been behind him, smiled and touched her hand to her face, looking happily surprised. She stepped forward, glanced at the piano, and then at Edward. She threw her arms around him._

_"I could ask for no greater gift from my son," she praised, in a voice thick with pride and love. "Thank you so, so much Edward."_

- November 3, 1945.

Germany surrendered. World War II is over. So many changes the world has gone through. I was born 1901. I should be 44 years old, but look the same as I did when I was nineteen, the year before I lost my memory.

- December 1, 1946.

Another year and I am still alone. How long will it be like this? I have wandered from north to south, east to west, and still have not yet found him. How long was this search to last? I was willing to search forever if it meant I would one day see him, but I hoped that it was soon. I was impatient; I wanted to see him in more than just a vision.

- February 2, 1947.

_"We must move again? So soon?" Esme fretted. "I was getting so attached here. This lovely home and we've managed to stay clear of most human contact, which has helped Emmett adjust so perfectly."_

_"I'm sorry, Esme," Carlisle sighed. "We should leave as soon as possible. I don't want any returning faces from the war to get suspicious of us, and of why none of the males in our family were called to war."_

_Esme nodded her head._

- April 23, 1947.

I went into town for a job. I met a kind man who was in need of a secretary. I gladly agreed to the position. I followed him around most days, took notes of who wanted what of him, and what he wanted of whom. I answered his main phone line, and helped his clients as they entered his office. It was an easy job, and I was pleased that it made me more money than the job I had altering and selling clothes back in '36. But overall the job I preferred more was the clothing design. Something about it gave me one more reason to think good of the world and my place in it. Maybe one day I would have time—once I found my centre—to run a clothing store or something of the sort.

- August 14, 1947.

Mr. Thornton, my boss, gave me a raise. I hadn't thought I had been doing a job any better than anyone else, but he gave the raise to me. He told me that he had never been so organized in his life—never mind my good sense of fashion and design had encouraged more businesses to come to him. I had changed his clothes and his way of welcoming people. It worked wonders.

- January 3, 1948.

Mr. Thornton, who had been my boss for over eight months, was now firing me. His old secretary, who had been recovering from the emotional scarring of losing her young son to the war had come back, begging for her old job, so that she could support her younger son. Mr. Thornton couldn't refuse, but he still told me that if I had something better to offer, he would keep me. I told him that she was one deserving lady and as sure as my name was Alice I wasn't going to take that chance from her. She needed the job to survive; I didn't.

- January 17, 1948. AM

_I sat on a bar stool. I was relaxed, sitting back, smiling. I was watching the door._

_"I've been waiting for you," I said._

_"Sorry to keep you waiting, ma'am," he said, tipping his hat._

_I hopped off the stool. "My name is Alice."_

_"Hello, Miss Alice," he said. "I am Jasper Whitlock."_

- January 17, 1948. PM

His name was Jasper.

Alice and Jasper. That fit, didn't it?

- January 30, 1948.

Texas! I saw it written on the map! I saw him walk in, my centre, and Texas was there on the map! How could I have missed it?

I wasted no time. I was going to find Jasper and I was going to find him this year. I was going to find him soon and he wouldn't escape me ever again.

I was going to Texas.


	8. Chapter 8: Texas Hold 'em

"We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams." – said by Willy Wonka, in _Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory_ (Original—and best!!!—version).

* * *

**Thanks for patiently waiting for an update, my loyal fans! Muahaha. (Did you know muahaha is apparently not a word? I spell-checked it. Life just got a bit duller.) I am now recovered from influenza! Sadly, I am still mortal. I saw no especially pale doctor with cold skin and a movie star smile and my last name has not become Cullen. I am thirsty though…but not for blood. For reviews! So, if you please, review.**

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Chapter 8: Texas Hold 'Em

I can't honestly say I was the prettiest girl in the room. I mean, who would find me attractive when I was pouting so much? Then again, I had been waiting there for three days, and still he was a no-show.

I had gone off to Texas in a big hurry, fully trusting my vision of my Jasper. I had even found the location. It was a little pub. The name was scratched out and I hadn't bothered to speak to anyone to find out its name. Maybe since I had free time I should have, but I was too excited. I plopped down at the bar stool that was in the dead centre of the bar table and faced the door, ready to greet him the second he opened the door. I waited until the bar tender told me he was closing for the night. I told him that I wanted to stay. He misunderstood my intentions of course, and I had to correct him. I told him out loud, clearly, that I did not want to sleep with him in the bar. He turned pinker than a baby freshly slapped bottom and then politely said that if I really needed to crash at the bar I could. I thanked him sweetly and proceeded to wait where I was. The bar tender closed the bar.

I was ecstatic the next day when the bar tender opened the pub. I waited, practically bouncing off my seat. Every woman that sat next to me, with their eyes inquiring as to why I would be in a pun all by my lonesome, turned to me with a question on their lips. I told all of them that the man I loved was going to walk through the door. They all had that same look in their eyes in response. They all thought "crazy girl," but were all secretly envious. I could tell. They would eye the man their arm was on, and wonder why they had followed him in.

I supposed, by the sunrise after my second night spent in the bar, that I wasn't unlike those ladies. They had come in with a man they hardly knew, or a man they thought they knew. I was taking a leap of faith by coming. I had seen Jasper, seen his ways and some of his past, but I had no idea what future we held together. I wouldn't know until I had finally met him. I had learned that much about my visions, from interactions with people in towns were I had worked and hunters I had avoided. My visions only seemed to common when a certain course was set. Jasper might see me and turn right around and I would have waited and searched for nothing. But what I was hoping to happen was the opposite. And that hope kept me nailed to the stool for the third day. I sat there for a third night. I stayed, with my optimistic smile in place, as the sun crept up lazily into the red morning sky. I watched out the bar window, peripheral vision locked on the door, as always.

The bar tender opened up. I straightened my skirt and sighed. I hadn't breathed all night, lungs stiff with anticipation, and I had to remember to breathe with humans near. I didn't want to scare them away. I made sure the sun's light didn't hit me directly, again so not to scare them in case I sparkled too brilliantly. I was ready for a full day's worth of waiting. I was ready to wait years if I had to. I hoped it wouldn't take that long, but I could wait if I had to.

I watched the door open, wondering if it would be Franco Detini after a long night pacing about, guarding something-or-other. I hadn't paid much attention to what he had said. He had begun to tell of his life's story, after a great too many bottles of imported whisky the previous night, but had slurred. I had diverted my ears to the opening sound of the door and missed his words. I had heard enough to know he guarded _something_. He was always so tired that I hoped it was something important.

The second opening of the door was a small party, claiming to be celebrating a birthday. Apparently they were leaving town tomorrow to never come back. They wanted one last sample of the bar tender's best before their departure. The bar tender encouraged them to take me with them. Respectfully, I declined, whishing them well, and truthfully telling them that I was meeting someone, that I couldn't leave until then. The bar tender looked wary—and even worried about me—but the celebratory party took no offense. I was so worried about the bar tender being worried about me that I didn't look at the door at first. I had heard it open so many times that missing it once wouldn't hurt me.

But intuition hit me, like I had driven into a brick wall with a mortal body. My head snapped—as humanly quickly as I could manage in my state of excitement—to face the door. The lighting was perfect. It was the same amount of people. The sounds were the same. The timing was the same. The person who walked in the door, with the same composure…

My body moved before I could control myself. I was so suddenly out of the bar and moving as far away as I could. Without any notice, his plans had changed. I realized as soon as my eyes focused on where my feet were taking me that he hadn't walked into the bar in Texas. He had left before I had time to realize it. He was somewhere else. He had left wherever he had been at and was in Philadelphia.

I wasn't sure how long I ran, but I didn't get thirsty or tired or unhopeful—I didn't feel anything but a need to get to Philadelphia. Something in my head told me he wasn't there yet, but he was going to be. I knew, if he were to understand me at all, I would have to be there before him. I had no clue as to how much time I could possibly have leftover, waiting in the darn bar for three days. I had wasted so much precious time!

_No_, I reminded myself. _I couldn't have known he would change his course_.

I just had to get there. I had to be there for him.

I paid no attention to when the sun rose or set, but the sun couldn't have crossed the sky more than twice and I was there. Relief poured over me like God had lifted a cool river and dropped it on me. The feeling was inescapable.

God…who was that? I still had no idea where I had come from, but that word seemed familiar. Was he a friend of mine?

No, no, no. That's ridiculous…oh. Oh, never mind. I remembered.

I shook my head, smoothed my dress, and tried to hold onto my hat. There was a storm blowing in, I could feel it as surely as I could feel my own limbs. I closed my eyes and tried to get a feel of how bad the storm would be.

And with that simple action, I could see exactly how the storm would turn out, and where it would hit the hardest. I had thought my visions were uncontrollable…if 'visions' is the right word for seeing events, weather conditions, and people's actions in advance. But I had just forced myself to see something that was to come. I wondered if I would ever be able to control these _visions_ of mine…

I had seen that Jasper would get out of the rain and go inside. I had to find that place. The storm wouldn't come in until tomorrow, around mid-day, but I wanted to be in the right place beforehand. I knew there would be people around—people more suspicious than the bar-folk I had adapted to in Texas. I knew people in Philadelphia were accustomed to a different kind of culture. I had been in the state before. I only hoped that my fashion would match theirs.

I saw a couple crossing the street, getting out of their car and walking into a place. I read the sign above the place to see that it was called 'Dinah's Diner'.

A diner… That was where Jasper would go. But which one? It certainly wasn't this distastefully named diner. I didn't recognize the setting. I was definitely in the right city. I could feel that in every last inch of my body. The only thing in question was which direction I would go.

I settled with moving forward. I watched the people through the window—deciding that my clothes were a couple years outdated, but overall not too bad. I saw a dress shop across the street, just half a block away from Dinah's. I couldn't resist.

The bell above the door rung as I entered the dress shop and the first thing I saw was the cutest little yellow dress. My eyes were stuck to it like honey stuck in its jar.

"Hello, Miss," someone greeted. "What can I do you for today?"

I turned my head around and smiled at the man who had greeted me. I watched his jaw drop. I giggled. He took one look at my—not meaning to brag—flawless features and was immediately stunned. Then, his eyes fell down to my ravaged dress, which was in need of replacing thanks to my running across the country in it. I realized that my purse was still clutched in my hand, which meant I hadn't lost my hard-earned money. I hoped that the money wasn't as out of date as my dress was.

"Oh, I see," the man said. It was pretty clear what I was in for. The dress gave it away almost as much as my eyeing the yellow dress did.

The man put his hand to his chin and looked from me to the yellow dress.

"I don't know if you want to settle for that sweet number," he said. "I would suggest something not so plain, for someone so endowed."

I knew he was trying to subtly tell me that he thought I was attractive, but I didn't want to take the hint. I was about to meet the one I had been envisioning for decades. I wasn't going to waste time indulging in flirting. I was going straight to business.

"Sir, I consider myself a woman of great taste, at least in that of the matters of fashion," I told him. "As far as I am concerned, that dress has my name on it. If simple and beauty can't be put into the same sentence, than why bother with fashion at all? I think I can dress myself; I don't need your opinion in the matter. Someone beautiful can pull off something simple better than something overtly atrocious like the rest of the disastrous stuff in here."

I gestured to the rest of the clothes. I could tell the store was trying to be modern, or maybe they were trying to predict the next fashion trend, but none of it was the least bit attractive. But their simpler designs were lovely. The yellow dress though, which was indeed the simplest they had, was exactly what I had envisioned myself wearing when I was going to meet Jasper. He was going to come in from the rain, go into a diner, and I was going to be wearing that dress.

Or…maybe the pink one.

"I've changed my mind," I told the man, handing him a handful of bills. "The pink one is lovelier."

"Are you trying to pull the old wool over my eyes or what?" the man laughed coldly. "That isn't enough."

"It isn't?" I pouted. Prices had gone up since I last bought a dress. I pulled out another coupe of bills. "How's that?"

Shock entered his eyes. I could tell what he was thinking. How much money did she have on her? Could she just keep adding bills if I keep lying about the price?

I examined the dress from a distance, admiring it as it was displayed on the feminine body shape. I thought it would be more appropriate if they had an entire body instead of just a limbless, headless, stump. How was a lady going to know if the dress looked good on a body if there was no body to be seen? I would have to suggest that to a clothing store owner one day. A manikin—that's what it would be called. I smiled at my own cleverness. How did I manage to come up with such brilliant ideas?

"Well judging by that very clear price tag, I believe I owe you no more than what I have given you," I said. I handed him the money, went over to the dress, removed it from the stump and went to the changing room.

The man protested, saying that removing the dress from the stump wasn't allowed or something else that registered into my mind like 'blah blah blah'. I put the dress on and rolled up my old one. I stepped out of the change room, glanced in the available mirror, smiled at my fashion friendly reflection and walked out of the store. The man protested some more, asking if I wanted my change. I told him to keep it and I didn't look back.

I felt fresh and ready. I had wasted a little waiting time, with still no idea where the right diner was, but at least I felt calm. There was no rush yet. I would find Jasper at the right moment. It was destiny.

I walked through nearly the entire city. I took in the new blooming culture. Apparently, a lot of boys were adopting some sort of new style with dark jackets and greasy hair. The more sophisticated boys with the clean-cut look called them 'Greasers' and they got into fights a lot. I found the fights uncivilized and uncalled for, but, despite what the shrieking girls said, the guys had a lot of guts. In some cases a helpful blade would reveal how much guts they had and I was forced to skedaddle before I ended up giving into my thirst.

I learned all I could in that day. I tried to learn the cadencies of their dialect. They had a spunky way of talking and it grew on me. I really liked the mood of the decade.

I walked in on several different diners and at least four major fights. I finally found a diner that fit the setting that I had seen in my vision. It was quiet, almost rundown, and I recognized one waitress from my vision. She had light curly hair and full, pouting lips. She had circles under her eyes and a crooked nose. She was wearing a uniform, a dress with a short skirt and a white apron.

There was one other waitress. She was younger, probably my age—oh, well, I supposed we weren't the same age, but the age I appeared to be, at least. I asked her how old she was, and, after looking at me oddly for half a second, answered me. She said she was twenty. So, I must have stopped aging around twenty.

I sat by the long counter that stretched between the aisle of booths and the kitchen. There were stools there, so I sat on one, put my head in my hands, and prepared to wait.

"Can I get you something?" the twenty-year-old waitress asked me.

"No." Unless you happen to have a way to speed up the time until he gets here.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I sighed. I hoped I was right about the storm coming soon, so I wouldn't be waiting another three days only to found out that Jasper had changed his course again.

The waitress went away slowly, eyeing me throughout the entire evening. I didn't move an inch until closing time.

"Get her to get out," the waitress with the crooked nose whispered, shoving the twenty-year-old waitress toward me.

"She's kind of freaky, Dot."

"You're just jealous cause she's prettier than you," Dot, the crooked-nose waitress scolded. I giggled. They looked at me like I was crazy.

Then again, a normal person wouldn't have heard their conversation, so it appeared that I had just laughed at nothing. That could be considered crazy.

"It's closing and I am not sticking around to deal with the likes of her all night," Dot continued. "She seems the proper type, so I'll bet she just went through one of those nasty divorces."

The youngling eyed me nervously. "Why would you say that?" she muttered.

"Take a good look, Anna," Dot warned. "That dress has money written all over it. I'll bet she was married to a nice rich, older man who got sick of her fooling around with young men so he divorced her. Now she doesn't have a good supply of money to waste on her pretty dresses."

"I don't know," Anna, the twenty-year-old, doubted. "She doesn't look like she's been through a divorce. She looks like she's…excited."

I giggled quietly again. Excited was an understatement.

"She's freaky, Dot," Anna restated. "She's laughing at nothing."

"Maybe she thinks the divorce is funny." Dot shrugged. "Either way, not my problem. You wanted this job so badly, so _you_ get to go tell her to leave."

Anna swallowed hard and started toward me. I sighed and stood.

"Don't worry about me, I'll leave," I promised, making eye contact with Anna. It was just as Dot said; I was definitely prettier than her. Anna was kind of plain—except for her eyes. Her eyes were the prettiest shade of starlight blue.

"Oh, and Johnny's got some news for you, Anna," I said, stopping with my hand on the door. "When he comes in, take him outside because I have big plans to meet someone here today, and I would like as much privacy as possible, okay?"

I hoped the request didn't sound too 'freaky'. I had had a vision of Anna and Johnny getting really loud in some sort of argument while Jasper entered the diner. I didn't want to risk anything. I wanted him to feel safe about coming inside—to feel safe about meeting me.

Whether Anna found the request freaky or not, when I closed my eyes and concentrated on what I had seen, their argument was no longer in the picture.

I glanced over my shoulder and said "Thank you," to Anna. I slipped into the alley to loiter in the shadows until morning.

The night passed quickly. I watched the stars and wondered if spending a night with Jasper would take away all the loneliness about being awake at night while all the world was asleep. I had a feeling it would.

When the sun rose, it wasn't bright for long that day. The wind howled by in a tough breeze and it brought the rain. The clouds blew in and just as the wind was quieting down, the rain started. The rain poured heavily and the wind blew it at angles. I was in the diner at the point when the storm was really picking up. If my heart still had a beat it would have sped so rapidly that it would have raced right out of my chest. I could barely sit still. I knew it was only seconds until he arrived. My vision hadn't changed. He was certainly coming.

The bell rang many times, hinting for the waitresses that someone had come in. Most times, it was people who just wanted to get out of the downpour. Some were women with their children who were waiting as their husband's pulled the car up close. Most left when they were sure that the storm wasn't going to let up and that they might as well go home.

It was just after noon when the figure in the rain I hadn't noticed before moved. My body stiffened and my eyes widened. He had been standing there for _hours_ and I hadn't noticed him. He had been _debating_ coming into the diner for _hours_. How had I not seen him?

I silently scolded myself for being so unobservant. But it didn't matter. He was coming now. He figure moved in from the room, and the bell sounded as he came in. My eyes fixed on him. And, as Lady Luck would have it, his eyes fixed on me. Jasper looked at me. More than that, he walked toward me.

He was tall, lean, but still muscular. I could see the scars cover his skin, reflecting from the diner's lights. He was wearing considerably old clothes, like he hadn't seen a clothing store in decades. His dripping wet hair was honey-blond—such a contrast to my own black as ebony hair. I wondered what he would think of that… Did he detest dark hair? Or could he maybe love it?

My insides felt strange. I felt like I was missing something, like there was supposed to be something…warm…in my face. I couldn't figure it out. My skin was the same temperature as ever, and even though the back of my mind was yelling at me to say something wasn't right about that, I was confident. I had no reason not to be. His eyes were on me. I was the same as him. Whatever we were—blood-drinkers by no specific name or place of birth—we were the same creatures.

I was seated on the stool by the counter. I was relaxed, sitting back, smiling. I hadn't even moved. But he took my smile as an invitation. He came close enough to stand in front of me, and I was considering jumping up and hugging him, but I didn't. Something else took hold of me. All the raw energy that was building inside of me burned out.

The energy that was a constant inside of me was gone. All was left was this immeasurable happiness. I was so happy and so calm and so relieved and everything about the strange look in Jasper's eyes told me to be motionless. I had waited for so long already—so what was one more second?

"You've kept me waiting a long time," I said.

He ducked his head and said, "Sorry, ma'am."

I hopped off the stool. He made no move to back away from me. I smiled softer and held out my hand. The look in his eyes—that curious look that was measuring what I did softened too. The miserable pain I had seen in his eyes in all my visions of him vanished. I could pick out the small trace of it only because of my memory of it being there. But other than that memory, I saw a tangible measure of hope. He took my hand.

"My name is Alice."

"Hello, Miss Alice," he said, with the beginning of a smile on his lips. "I am—"

"Jasper Whitlock," I interrupted, unable to stop grinning. "I am so very pleased to finally meet you."

His eyes now glowed with that hope. He smiled at me—fully and really. I was overjoyed that he still had not let go of my hand.

"I suppose I have a lot to explain about me knowing who you are," I said in a whisper.

"I can wait on that," he disagreed, taking me by surprise. He grinned, somehow able to guess that I was surprised.

"This may be hard for you to understand, but," he said in a voice lower than any human ear could hear, "I have been very…unhappy with the…condition we seem to have in common, and for the first in, well, the first time I can remember, I don't feel that way. If you wouldn't mind waiting at least until the storm has blown over, I would like to sit and talk with you about—"

"We can talk about nothing at all if you like," I said, putting my other hand over his, holding his hand in between both of my hands. "I have been waiting"—I lowered my voice—"decades to talk to you about nothing."

His mouth twitched into a wider smile for a fraction of a second. It made me wonder if he really could read my emotions, if my excitement and joy had spread to him.

"I don't want to make you wait any longer," Jasper assured me. "Why don't we sit somewhere quieter?" he suggested, nodding toward the booth that was farthest from the door, and farthest from the only five costumers in the diner. The two waitresses—Dot and Anna—had their eyes on Jasper and I like hawks, but they kept their distance like he and I were exhaling poison, as if they might drop dead if they came near.

I allowed Jasper to lead me away from them. I lost track of time so thoroughly that my mind didn't even register when the storm had stopped. I wasn't sure if we said another word in all the hours we sat there. I might have noticed if I hadn't been staring into his eyes, watching for any sign that the pain would return. But the pain didn't return. He looked at me with no sign that he was bored of what he saw in me. His eyes were a mirror of what I was sure mine showed. Happiness, hope, ecstasy, and—I hoped—love.


	9. Chapter 9: Tithe

Okay! An update! HERE'S AN ADVANCE WARNING JUST IN CASE YOU DIDN'T NOTICE: The rating of this story has gone from T to M. Now, that's a little high, considering there isn't going to be much M-stuff. But I just want to warn you that starting here, there will be little tiny pieces of it. Okay, now you know. THANKS FOR READING!!!

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_"And the moon is just watching. She's just watching him die. She must have driven him to it."  
– Holly Black, "Tithe"._

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Chapter 9: Tithe

"Are you content with saying nothing still, Jasper?" she asked me, her golden eyes—which were the strangest shade I had ever seen—stared into my own eyes—which were the ugly, demonic red I had come to accept.

"I am, ma'am," I assured her.

Actually, I was more than content. But how could I explain that to her? Listen, Miss Alice, I can feel your emotions right now and you're too happy for me to feel anything else. No, that wouldn't work. I was just glad to have her not leave me—yet. I was sure she would. I could taste it in her. I could feel her innocence, her joy, her clean feelings, ones untainted with the guilt and blood that I had on mine. And there was so much blood on my hands—surely there was no way around it. Silence was the only thing that would keep her with me. And I needed her. I needed the fresh waves of emotion rolling off her like a cool breeze on a warm day—like snow falling lightly on the ground in a delicate motion—like all the human desires I had once had rolled into one clean-cut package—like the taste of blood flooding down my throat, only with no pain to it, no suffering infused into every drop of it.

Alice sighed—her small, delicate hands coming quickly to wrap around her neck. She pouted at me—but her emotions betrayed themselves to me. She wasn't upset at all. I didn't understand that. She was perfectly happy inside, but her expression wore the opposite feeling.

I was reminded of suddenly of Maria. She had hidden her real feelings from me as well. She had tried to play me—and although I had trusted her—although I had…

There were no words for the companionship I had felt for Maria. Perhaps it was all false. Perhaps I was the only one who had felt any trust there. Maria had probably only been using me too, the way she used Peter and the way she made me use everyone else she wanted to help her take over more and more land—and the blood.

Maria was in my past now though. I was going to find a new way for myself. I wouldn't kill one more person. I didn't want to feel their fear, their pain, and have their torture burn inside me, and cry tearlessly from the guilt. All because of what I was, I needed to kill. And being indoors was no good for me.

Alice had distracted me long enough that I could push the building desire to the back of my mind, but there was only so long I could do that for. The diner was closed in, the air was thick with the scents of all who has passed through the booths and the counters and walked over the cold floors. Every scent sent a new wave of thirst through me. My mouth was already filling with venom. My throat burned dry and raw from thirst. I wasn't sure if I could hold out much longer.

_Alice had distracted me_—but even from the second I entered the diner—the diner that I didn't even trouble myself to learn the name of—I could taste every scent on my tongue. Some sweet-scented blood burned inside my nose. I wanted to spin around and grab the first person who dared look at me, as if that would be a reasonable enough excuse to take their life to satisfy myself.

"You can call me regular old Alice," she said, snapping me out of my blood-lusting trance. I held my breath, not wanting to risk the lives of the innocents to answer her.

Alice's eyes never left mine. She didn't question about the scars covering my skin—for surely her eyes could see them, even if her eyes were so different from mine. How could she not? And the question that troubled my mind more so was why she wasn't repulsed—why wasn't she afraid? I had struck fear into every opponent I faced—and even the newborns that felt invincible and reckless learned to fear and hate me in the last second before I cut them down. So why did she stare at me with such—such longing and happiness? I couldn't make sense of her emotions.

What enchanted me most was that I could not make sense of _her_. Alice, who had been _waiting _for me in the diner—who had been waiting decades to talk about nothing with me—who was losing her pout and gaining yet another brilliant and breath-taking smile—was confusing to me.

Why was she waiting for me? Why did I matter at all to her? I was destruction. I was mindless chaos, taking orders from a beautiful murderess who wanted nothing but control, dominance, and power. Why would Alice care about a spineless man who obeyed with no complaint for _years_? How could someone so vibrant and—beautiful—so beautiful…why would she care about me?

"It's the people, right?" Alice asked softly, inclining her head, not caring that she was beginning to invade what the modern way of talking called 'invading personal space'. Alice winked.

I had moved back when she had moved forward. My natural reflex would have been to attack, but I didn't want to hurt her. I wanted to keep her company for as long as possible. As long as I kept her mood up, maybe I would find some peace for myself.

"I know exactly what's going through your head," Alice convinced me. "But don't worry; I have just the suggestion for you. Trust me, Jasper, I can tell just by looking at you that you don't like harming people anymore than I do."

Shock crossed my face. I wondered if she was a mind-reader of some sort.

"The secret is animals," Alice whispered. "I swear to you it works. It doesn't taste quite the same…I will admit…reluctantly. But it still keeps me strong and the bigger game has a good predatory taste to it. It's delicious and nutritious."

I could taste the honesty in her tone. While I was trying to adjust to her easy-going air, smiles, and overall rapture, she was tossing just the advice I needed. Right at my feet, she was trying to end the search I started. Just like that.

It was like she was an angel, sent just for me. Her golden eyes were the eyes of an angel come to deliver salvation to a damned man. 'Cause I was a damned man who should have died long ago; my life sacrificed for the thousands I had taken.

But here she was, advising me, and I was staring at her stupidly like there had been cotton stuffed in my ears and I hadn't heard a thing. I didn't breath—not that I needed to—and I certainly—and most thankfully—nearly forgot about the smell of human filling the air of the small diner.

"Jasper, you haven't said a single word more to me," Alice stated blithely, "and although I promised that we didn't have to talk about anything, I still wish that at some point we could have a conversation—even a small one. Could you give me a hint if that's possible or not?"

I nodded my head stiffly.

Alice's smile dropped. "That's not a very good answer," she sighed. "I should have formed a yes-or-no question, since you're going to only nod, it seems."

The joking manner of her voice compelled me to speak. I was using her for a moment of guiltlessness; the least I could do was answer a simple question.

"Miss Alice,"—I started only to have her raise her hand. I had never been silenced by anyone but Maria before—and even then not more than twice—so the feeling of being dismissed was uncomfortable for me. I tried to remember that I didn't want the superiority of my old life, only a freedom from the guilt.

"Please, just _Alice_," she reminded me, smiling wistfully at me.

"If I talk to you, I am afraid you will not like me very much," I answered her gingerly. "I haven't been good company for a long while."

Alice's smile grew, adding slyness to her angular, pixie-like features. "I know you don't know me well enough to know this, but"—she giggled softly—"I wouldn't be here if you weren't interesting. Jasper, I have been trying to find you for a _long while_. I'm here to stay. I do like you. That's not likely to change."

I sighed and closed my eyes. I shook my head, leaning closer, and lowering my voice. "I'm sorry to be rude," I said, "but I must correct you. You're wrong about that—about your opinion of me being unchangeable. I have done terrible things…repulsive, _horrible_…"

I couldn't finish. I held my breath as a waitress spun around the room, carrying empty glasses. I couldn't breathe after that for so long that it took me a moment to realize that Alice has put her hand gently on my arm. I opened my eyes, stared at her hand, and then her face.

What I saw there was a confidence in her words. She truly seemed unchangeable—delicately indestructible.

"I have seen things, Jasper," she murmured, "and I have done things. If you want, it doesn't have to matter. It can be part of our separate pasts. All I want now is to know what's happening with your future—maybe,"—she drew in a shaky breath—"maybe even your future…with _me_."

I gaped at her, wondering why my still heart ached at her words.

Alice took my expression badly and hastily dropped her eyes to the table-surface in shame. "That's fine," she rambled nervously. "Whatever is it you want, just ask me. I don't mind helping you out. I know you left that—uh—friend of yours and went off with two other friends in search of something. I can help you find it. I think if you stop killing that would help. It helped me."

I felt guilty again—but not about all my past wrongs. Something about her—this stranger who had been waiting to meet me—was overwhelming me. It felt wrong for her to be nervous, for her to drop her eyes in shame, and for her to beg. She was too lively and beautiful before, when she was confident. I knew that my ill-composed answer had caused the change.

"Why don't I just show you?" she offered, her eyes flickering upward at me, and then dropping to where her hand was still on my arm. "I'm sure it would help you. And that's really all I want to do. Then I'll leave you alone, if that's what you want. I won't follow you around. I'm sure I can come up with something to do." She giggled weakly and pulled her hand away.

Her words were wrong now too. I didn't _want_ to be _alone_. I didn't want _her_ to _leave_ me alone—I could already feel myself getting used to breathing in her strong, spirited emotions. The whole world was in her eyes and all the happiness I had searched for was tangled into her frenzied glee. If she separated from me, I knew I would never mind contentment again. There would be no hope.

I reached for her hand and pulled her closer to me. She looked at me with wide-eyed surprise. I cupped her hands inside mine and her grin spread from ear to ear. My mind whirled with the new wave of euphoric emotions.

Alice giggled sweetly. She sounded like the girl I had met when I first walked into the diner. She sounded like someone I didn't want to ever live without.

And just like that, I realized it—I had found exactly what I had been searching for. It wasn't just a thing or place—it was a person—it was her. I had been searching for Alice.

"Alice," I whispered, testing the name aloud, confirming that my search was over.

Alice leaned forward and pressed her lips tightly together. Her eyes narrowed playfully. We held our gazes in for another silent minute.

"Jasper," she said. "The rain has stopped."

I didn't even glance out the window.

"We should go before the clouds part and we make the whole world stare," she suggested lithely. "We wouldn't want them to be afraid of us."

I smiled when she said it. Us—how long had I been waiting to hear that without knowing? She tugged on my hand, twining her fingers through mine and pulled me out of the diner.

"_Finally_," one waitress muttered, seeing us depart.

I followed in the footsteps of Alice's graceful, soft feet. Euphoria seemed to be what her every touch was composed of. I was intoxicated so suddenly, being out of the diner and into the fresh air, freed momentarily from the temptation of human blood. All I could taste now was my own desire to continue to feed off Alice's rapture and to follow her wherever she was headed.

Alice turned her head over her shoulder and winked at me. "I'm not taking you anywhere strange," she promised, "just away from all the people. We were stuffed in that stuffy diner for too long. Too many _mortal beings_." She cackled devilishly, pretending to herself that she was an evil creature like me, instead of the lovely, fiery seraphim she was.

"Is it true?" I asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear her answer me with her soft, high voice. "Animals—I mean—do they suffice?"

Alice bobbed her head violently in answer. "Absolutely," she proclaimed. "I never go thirsty and I haven't aged. Although, to be honest, I don't know much about your lifestyle of—of what we _are_; I only know what I managed to figure out for myself. Which is why"—she shot me a serious contemplative look—"I want to have a real, out-loud conversation with you. I want to know all the details I couldn't catch in my vision. I want to know what we are and what a different way of being us is like."

I shook my head slowly, still following steadily behind her as she led out of town. "You don't want to know," I told her. "It's awful. Compared to anything, I'm sure. I have been a monster for my entire life since my _rebirth_; your life sounds like a dream in comparison."

Alice cackled. "You haven't heard anything about my life!"

"But I can feel it," I objected solemnly, listening for it to occur to her that I was strange—even for not being mortal. "I can feel your emotions. You're happy; it feels so good."

I waited, allowing her to continue to pull me, but she didn't stop. She didn't accuse me of being strange. She didn't seem to find it out of place. Her emotional range didn't differ from happiness for even a half-second. Her emotions did dip down to a happy sort of confusion…but then she was overjoyed again.

"That's kind of interesting," she said, just as I was scanning are surroundings, seeing that she had pulled me very far out of town. "You can feel what I'm feeling?"

"Yes."

Alice paused, stopping but not looking at me. With her back to me, I relied on my ability fully. I could feel the change in her emotions. They were going in a completely unexpected direction, not at all the fear or anger he had predicted.

"So, _you're feeling exactly what I am feeling_?" she emphasized, trying to point out something important.

"Yes," I answered, not understanding why she was repeating her question. Hadn't I just answered her with the exact same answer?

No, I realized as she turned around and her emotions formed a distinct structure. I could feel desire mold around me, coming from her and forming around the both of us. Her smile was sly again, and there was wistfulness in her golden eyes.

"Can you feel what I am feeling?" she whispered.

I nodded slowly. I understood what she was communicating now. The rational part of my mind told me that all that I was feeling wasn't my own. The rest of my mind was too focused on _feeling_ the emotion.

Alice put her hands on my chest. She looked up at me, her eyes asking me a thousand silent questions. Without thinking about what I was doing, my movements answered her questions. I curved my body to bring our faces close, so that my lips could meet hers. Her lips were warm and soft and I felt my own desire and euphoria. Not just hers, but my own. Each time I pressed my lips to hers I felt both of us fall deeper and deeper into the temptation of feeling it all. The lure of her lips, her peace of mind, and her desire was too much for to resist. Her building desire fed off my own, and soon I had lost control of what my mind was willing my body to do.

In the madness of the joy running through me, I felt so much all at once. I felt physical things, like her lips on mine, my fingers in her hair, her hands moving from my face down my neck, my hands on her skin, the taste of her neck under my lips, and the heat accumulating between our once cold bodies. When I did take the time to breathe, my tongue whispered her name, testing it again and again. Each time her name sent chills through me, and made her smile broader. And when she smiled, I felt the need to kiss her again.

There was a moment between kisses and whispering her name that I thought about how I would never want to stop touching her, holding her, and would never find a reason to ask her to stop embracing me tightly. I wondered if we would stay like that for the rest of eternity, making love until the apocalypse and heaven came to claim their angel back. Even then, I wasn't sure we would stop.

I was kissing her neck and allowing her to caress my scars slowly with her soft fingertips when I heard Alice gasp. Her body froze and her fingers curled sharply. All feelings of joy were gone. For a second, _all_ feeling was gone. There was no anger, no pain, no sorrow, no boredom, and not even a trace of the desire that had drawn our bodies together through several sun sets and rises.

"Alice," I asked in panic, grabbing her shoulders lightly. "Alice?"

Her head was still. Her eyes rolled back into her head. Her chest was still—no breathing. And still, no feeling came from her.

"Alice?" I pleaded. "Alice? Can you hear me?"

I felt something then. I felt a trace of calm, of relaxation, of happiness too. A nervous smile spread across my face. I weakly shook her shoulders.

"Alice, please," I begged. "You can hear me, can't you? Please, Alice, answer me. Alice? I know you're fine. You're fine. So, please, Alice? Please? Answer me."

Panic shot through my body. I felt pain and confusion flash through her. I shook her a little harder.

"Alice! Alice, please, please, Alice. What's wrong? Talk to me—say anything! Alice?!?"

Her head cocked backward, and then lolled slowly forward. "Jasper," she slurred. I could see her dilated pupils. Her eyes weren't focused, but she was coming back.

"Alice, you're alright," I told her, smiling at her with as much assuredness as I could muster.

"I know, I know," she muttered. "This happens all the time—just…wow…"—she shook her head unsteadily and raised her eyes to look me in the eye—"That really packs a punch."

"What does?" I questioned confusedly. "What happens? You pass out like that? That's not supposed to vampires. We're supposed to be…" I struggled for a word more appropriate than invincible, because many newborns had that in their heads before I had proved them wrong with my own bare hands. "Alice, we're not supposed to get sick."

A thought struck me and made me feel sick. What if Alice wasn't like me? She had golden eyes and she had conquered her desire for blood. I hadn't sensed a trace of it in her; it wasn't on the forefront of her mind like it was mine. Was she different? Was that why he had lost all trace of her for that moment of panic?

"I wasn't sick," Alice argued. Her eyes completely focused confidently on me. "I'm like you; I have a little special extra sense."

I didn't get it. "What do you mean, Alice?"

"I don't mean I can do what you do," she laughed. "Don't worry; you're unique, as far as I know." She stroked my cheek and straightened herself up. She reached for the dress I had more or less torn off her.

"What does this have to do what just happened to you?" I asked angrily. My mind was racing with panic; I was already planning ahead in case an incident like that occurred again. I wanted to be prepared—to help her if I could in any way. But she wasn't taking it seriously. She had gone completely blank, and she was reacting like it was _normal_.

"I can see things," Alice explained, giving me a serious look, allowing me time to collect myself as she took a deep breath. "I can see what is going to happen in the future. That's how I could see you were coming to the diner. Jasper, I have been able to see your future since 1922."

I opened my mouth, but no words came. I scrunched my brow and tried to force my mind to think. Nothing came.

"I have been trying to find you since 1922," Alice continued. "I have been in love with you, Jasper, for a very, _very_ long time."

I shook my head. "So you haven't seen," I muttered, mostly to myself. "You haven't seen the terrible things I have done."

Alice set her hands on my shoulders. I refused to look at her.

"Jasper, I have seen so many things you've considered doing," she whispered sharply. "And you've changed your mind. You've chosen to be good. I think, of all your _qualities_, that's what draws me to you the most. Your search to be good—I wanted to help you."

I shook my head again. "I wasn't searching for _goodness_," I argued. "I was searching for _happiness_. Being good was only because I felt guilty."

Alice touched my face and jerked my chin up so that I would look at her. Her eyes weren't gold anymore; they were a shade between gold and black, so dark in comparison to the first I had seen of her eyes. She was thirsty; I could feel that. Worse, I could feel how thirsty I was.

"But you want to be good," she stated confidently and seriously. I nodded. "Good. Ha. Exactly—it's good to be good,"—she smiled, her eyes blazing with strength and joy—"and I know exactly how to help you get that. My latest vision has shown me the way!"

"Vision—your vision is going to make me good?" I didn't understand again; I thought she saw the future. Did seeing me as a good person in the future somehow make me one? Maybe.

"I've seen them before," Alice said, her eyes slipping downward. "They're good; they don't feed on humans. I got the idea from their leader—Carlisle. Feeding on animal blood instead of human blood."

"You got the idea from him?" I questioned. "Have you met him before?"

She shook her head. "I've only ever seen him in my visions."

"Do you plan on meeting him?" I asked, already knowing the answer as her lips curved into a smile.

"I think that's exactly what is going to happen," Alice giggled. "We're going to kick Edward Cullen out of his room—because I am going to be a role-model little sister."

"What are you talking about!?" I blurted exasperatedly. "You're some Edward Cullen's sister? Are we going to meet this Carlisle fellow? Or are you making this all up?"

Alice's eyes shot up to meet mine and I felt the sorrow. She was upset that I didn't believe her. I closed my eyes and groaned. Pleasing Alice wasn't going to be so easy after all. Apparently her hyper attitude required an optimistic companion. I felt that I should warn her that I didn't fit that description, but I didn't feel like I could ever be separated from her again. I didn't want her to chase _goodness_ without me.

"Alice," I cooed, cupping her hands in mine, bringing her fingers close to my lips. "All this time…I think I've been searching for you—even longer than you've been searching for me." I kissed her fingertips lightly. Her hurt mood dispersed. "I believe you; moreover I trust you. If you say we're going to meet some animal-eating vampire named Carlisle than we will."

"I'm an animal-devouring vampire too, you know," Alice pointed out playfully.

"And I guess me too," I said reluctantly. Something about feeding on animals made my stomach clench.

"Good boy," Alice congratulated, patting my shoulder and then pecking me on either cheek. "Now…the only problem is that we have no more clothes and these people are truly _civilized_."

"I am assuming civilized is a good thing," I commented hopefully.

She nodded sharply once. "We are going to have so much fun with them!"

"I don't think it's as easy as you make it sound," I sighed.

"You're right," Alice admitted. I looked up to see her smiling impishly at me. "There is a tithe to pay in exchange for our happiness."

I stared at her with tight lips and a made-up mind. "What's the price?"

Alice stood and then came close enough to stand above me. Even though I was kneeling, she still didn't tower over me. I couldn't help but smiling. She had the most frightening and devious expression on but she was nothing more than an exuberant imp.

Alice kissed the corner of my lip, slowly, drawing out the motion. She set her hand on my cheek and pulled her face away.

"What's the price Alice?" I asked again, still resigned to accepting whatever terrible condition she would offer me.

"The tithe," Alice announced, "is dealing with a family, dealing with what a real bond is."

My wide eyes scanned over her face. Her emotions displayed nothing but honesty. But there was no downside—that wasn't a price—that was a benefit. I had seen the bond between Peter and Charlotte—and Peter and I had our own bond, from the friendship we had nourished under Maria's tyranny. If anything, that was another answer to the searching I had been doing throughout my life.

"I look forward to it," I said.

She frowned and scrunched her thin, dark eyebrows together. "It's not that easy," she warned me. "I have a feeling that these people have a really…interesting future ahead of them."

I cocked a brow. "What have you seen, Alice?"

She shook her head. "I haven't seen anything bad happen," she contradicted. "I haven't seen any difficulties—I just have a feeling. The only difficulty is that you and Edward may not get along at first. I'm only worried for you." She took my face between her hands and pulled my close. "Jasper, you're the only one I'm worried about. There's no danger for me—no danger that I'm not willing to face. I have no past to lose and I can see whatever's coming. I just want to find more of myself in the present. I have you"—she kissed my lips softly—"but I think there's more out there. I can feel it inside me. I want to be a part of this family they have. I've seen them so often—I know it's—it's my—it's _our_ destiny to join them."

Her words were true. Sincerity rung out clear as a bell when she spoke; certainty and longing were also there. I could feel these things in her, and I wondered if there really was more I could ever want. I didn't think so; but could it hurt in looking?

"Alice," I murmured, rubbing my thumb softly over her shoulder. "I'll go with you."

She smiled softly and nodded her head. "Then we're good to go."

"Wait—Alice," I stalled.

She stepped back, now wearing her tattered dress. "We have plenty of time," she said, reading the hesitance in my eyes. "We don't have to meet them for another three seasons."

I perked a brow and stared up at her curiously. "Another three seasons?"

She pouted and thrust her hands to her hips. "I don't have a calendar in my head," she yapped. "I can only see what's going to happen. It's very rare that I get an accurate time reading. I haven't perfected my talent yet."

"Fine," I sighed. "So that gives us time."

"Time for what exactly?" Alice wondered. "Hiking mountains and fishing trips?" She giggled.

"Time to talk," I corrected.

She shot me a serious look. "I'm sure we both have questions," she agreed. "I want to know all you know."

"And I want to know all you know—about yourself," I requested, "and the hunting of…animals."

She clapped her hands together and grinned. "Oh, this will be so much fun!" she cheered. "Once I teach you a few good tricks, Carlisle will welcome us with open arms! He's a nice man. Oh, and I can't wait to meet Esme. She's so sweet. Although…it will take a while to convince Rosalie to warm up to me—oh! Oh, but Emmett will love you. He likes nothing more than an opponent to test his strength, because Carlisle is always at the hospital and Edward isn't really good for that sort of thing. He's always playing—or reading—or studying…"

I tried not to gawk at her, but it was a surprising to me, to hear her talk about people she claimed to have never met. She described the strangers as family already.

"Don't give me that look," she snapped. "I have been spying—oh, that's a bad word for it—observing them accidentally for a long while. I probably know more about them than they do—except that Edward is going to be a handful." She shook her head and feigned exhaustion. Then, she clapped her hands again. "Oh, but don't worry! He's already a favorite in my books. He's good—we can trust him."

"I believe you," I assured her. And I did; I trusted her and…and her _visions_. If she said a bunch of strangers were trustworthy then they had to be, right…?

Alice sighed. "Jasper, I can tell that this is confusing to you," she noted in a patient tone. "When you told me about your talent, I already had years of evidence to back you up. I had seen you react in ways…ways that proved you had to be feeling the feelings of other. It just made sense. I can understand that understanding me is going to take some time."

I grinned. "And we have time—three seasons to do it," I reminded her.

"That's right," she acknowledged. "So I suggest we start talking now."

She sat down on the ground, folding her legs underneath her torn skirt. She stared at me—her darkening gold eyes trained on me in a matter-of-fact expression. With that, she began to tell me all she could remember about her life—from the day she woke up in a coffin.

Her story made me feel sorrow for her, because she had no past. I knew most of mine—not little details, but who I was the day I was turned. I told Alice my human past, what I could remember; how I had been promoted to the rank of Major in the Confederate Army, and that was all I could really remember. My past hadn't been all that bright.

"I remember that my father and I had difficulties understanding each other," I recalled. "But that's all of my human past that I can remember."

"But you remember being turned?" she asked—for the third time.

"Yes. It's not a pleasant memory." I had already explained the pain to her—the fire, the burning, the aching, and the desire to be killed, just the end the suffering. She found it hard to comprehend; I found it hard to believe she didn't remember. Of all of the things I had experienced, that pain was my sharpest memory.

"I wish I could remember who turned me," Alice mumbled sadly. "And why?" She bit her lip.

"Maybe it's better you don't know," I offered darkly. "Think about why I was turned; that's a good enough reason to not want to know."

"I'm sure not all vampires are like that," she piped optimistically, "just look at Carlisle and his family!"

"As much as I would like to, I can't," I reminded her hotly.

"I'll describe them to you again then," she said.

"Fine, Alice, they're the exception," I allowed. "But most vampires I have seen are awful creatures. They have no compassion. They have no morals. Thank God for the Volturi or the human world would be in chaos."

Alice's eyes lit up and widened in excitement. "Who are the Volturi?" she asked.

I grinned sheepishly. "They're kind of like guardian angels, if you've heard of those," I explained. "They punish those who don't obey their rules—like kings keeping track of all of the vampires."

"That's a lot of work, running an entire race," she giggled. "So they must be pretty powerful—since I'm assuming most vampires follow their rules."

I nodded. "Most do; just not many that I've met," I answered. "The number one rule is an obvious one that most follow; to not be found out; to keep the existence of vampires a secret."

"Good rule. Less scary for the human masses," Alice complimented.

"I think the rule was made more for our sake than theirs," I corrected.

"Maybe." She shrugged. "I still feel that's it's an overall good rule."

I couldn't argue with that. The Volturi were very wise for the rules they came up with. Although I had never personally met them, Peter and Charlotte had told me so much about them. I had learned every rule and the instant Peter had told me that what Maria was doing was illegal in their eyes, I regarded them highly. They were keeping the vampires in check as best they could. If anyone was good—this Carlisle included—they surely were.

"Tell me more about them," Alice begged excitedly. "Tell me all these vampire rules. I hope I haven't broken any."

"You would know if you had," I warned her. "The Volturi aren't ones to sit idly by." I leaned forward and lowered my voice. "Have you heard of the Immortal Children?"

She shook her head. "No, but please tell me."

I spent the rest of the night explaining the Volturi and their acts to her. At some points she regarded them as highly as I did, and at other times she told me that she thought of them as cruel guardians, since they rarely showed mercy to any rule-breaker.

We had spent a day and a half explaining ourselves to each other. Alice now knew my human and inhuman past. She knew the story behind every scar.

Alice tried to teach me how to hunt animals. My nose tracked the scent of humans for so long that I was revolted by the taste of animal blood at first. Twice, Alice had to talk me out of attacking human hunters who were also tracking down animals. Although, 'talking' me out of it was putting it delicately. She nearly had to wrestle me to the ground. If they had been any closer than ten-feet from us, she wouldn't have been able to stop me.

Within a week, I had gotten used to the taste of an animal's blood. I still remembered and craved human blood, but when the hunters very nearly crossed my path I didn't lunge at the anymore. Alice didn't even need to hold me back.

My pride swelled with each success. I was strong enough to withstand a little temptation. It felt good to be relieved of the guilt. I could control myself; I wouldn't harm anyone again.

"I think we've spent long enough out here," Alice announced one day. The winter had begun to set in and there hadn't been a hunter in a week. "It's time for a field test, Jasper Whitlock."

I was eager to test my newfound inner strength, but also I was very nervous. What if I didn't live up to expectation? Alice had told me of her own struggle, that she had toiled over drinking human blood over animal blood a few times, and that going near humans was hard at first. I didn't want to disappoint her.

She offered me her hand. "Ready?"

I nodded nervously and took her hand.

"Then first things first," Alice giggled. "We need to make a good impression when we meet the Cullens."

I nodded in agreement, although Alice had reassured my many times that we would be welcomed no matter what happened. I knew that was the answer she wanted to hear.

Alice smirked and pulled the skirt of her dirty, ripped dress. "What's a first impression worth if one isn't wearing impressive clothes?"


	10. Chapter 10: Expect The Unexpected

_Ask Alice – the story of Mary Alice Brandon_.

Sorry for the long wait! I was hospitalized! (No details, just using it for a decent excuse.) So here it comes! I hope you enjoy it.

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_"Failure is impossible." –Susan B. Anthony_

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Chapter 10: Expect The Unexpected

Progress was wonderful. An entire month of frolicking, weeks of practice, and now we were ready for the road test. I was probably more excited than Jasper was.

I had been jumping up and down—skipping, actually—all the way into town. Jasper nervously watched every person, keeping track of their every movement, so nothing would catch him by surprise. He wanted to be prepared. He was making me so proud!

"Are you sure you don't see me attacking someone?" Jasper hissed.

I rolled my eyes. "I've seen you attack five people already, but you haven't," I answered truthfully. "Remember that guy on the bicycle? I saw you leap at him. But that didn't happen. He rode right by us because you made the decision to look away from him. Thus, no bloodshed. Thus, you rule."

Jasper's tight smile showed he didn't really trust my logic. I wasn't worried though; I knew I could trust him. I was watching his future closely, just as I had promised him, but I didn't believe he would so much as snarl at anyone. We were halfway into town and not a single person had been chomped at. Whatever came next, the road test was already a considerable success.

I watched as the blonde girl with big blue eyes and sunshine-scented blood skipped past Jasper, her wicker basket carrying freshly baked cookies. Jasper's shoulders tensed and his eyes flashed to meet mine. I smiled at him reassuringly and watched as the panic faded from his face. The girl continued merrily on her way and we continued along ours.

"Did you see me attack her too?" Jasper asked.

"Nope," I lied convincingly—or so I thought.

"You saw me attack her," Jasper sighed. "Who else, Alice? Will I attack the old woman on the corner wobbling toward us? What about that little boy with the teddy bear clutching his mother's hand so tightly? Who else am I putting in danger?"

"No one," I swore, squeezing his hand tightly. "I'm right here Jasper; I won't let anything happen."

He sighed again and closed his eyes. He stopped walking. I felt my mood waver. It was hard to remain so positive when I knew I wasn't getting through to him. How could explain how well he was doing? How could I make him understand that he was accomplishing so much?

"The next person you see, the next person I put in danger, tell me," he requested lightly, opening his eyes and smiling pleadingly at me. "I am afraid of hurting someone, Alice. I don't want to risk it."

"Fine then," I agreed. "The next person will be our bail. But not until then." I turned sharply on my heels and began pulling Jasper forward.

"Thank you."

I nodded. "Now, the whole reason we're here—besides proving to you that your self-control has improved so very, very much—is that lovely boutique on 17th. I don't want the Cullens to think we're savages."

"I don't see how clothing is going to impress them if I feed on their neighbors," Jasper commented teasingly.

I glared at him over my shoulder. "Clothing is everything," I told him.

I pulled him faster. I could feel anticipation growing in my veins. I hadn't seen the stores in a month. Surely there was something new by this time. I wondered what fashion dos and don'ts were awaiting me.

When we had approached the store window, I was a little shocked. I stared at the flaring skirts and couldn't wrap my head around why anyone would want to wear them. But, just as my mind drew a blank to the answer, a group of girls around the age my body was came giggling wearing the atrocious fashion.

"Interesting," I commented. "I think I'll try it."

Jasper snickered and rolled his eyes. One day I would have to explain to him the importance of fashion.

I stepped into the store and, like a tornado on a rampage, spun through every design. I probably gave the store manager a fright, but his feelings mattered very little to me. He was wearing a green-and-lime polka dot bow tie with a dark suit jacket. He obviously didn't get his position in the store through his fashion taste.

I spotted a fitted pink number with a long skirt. I thought it had a certain excitement to it. It looked mature too. I wanted to impress the Cullens and finding the right look was important. I was positive they would love me anyway, but I wanted to leave no detail up to chance. My visions could change so drastically and suddenly. I needed every assurance that things would go according to my plan.

Once I had fitted myself out—and paid the disastrously dressed store clerk—I dragged Jasper across the men's store. Jasper didn't like being dressed to the nines, but I found it fun. By the end of the day, both Jasper and I looked fit enough to walk a runway. I even once caught Jasper admiring our individual outfits—staring much longer than called for when his eyes fell over my figure.

"I think we can go to the Cullens now," I announced.

"Finally," Jasper joked.

I nudged him with my elbow and smiled tightly at him. He was beaming at me in a way so startling that I couldn't help but shoot my eyes downward. I had seen girls blushing before, as I walked past them and their beaus, but I hadn't been able to identify what feeling would cause their faces to redden until I met Jasper.

I linked my arm through his and began pulling him in another direction. "Now, the only question left is if you feel ready enough to take a train."

"An enclosed space with humans on every side," Jasper described with a frown. "I'm not so sure."

"That's just fine," I assured him. "These boots were made for walking." I lifted one leg up high enough to display my travel-friendly boots. They weren't the most fashionable things, but I didn't want to wear something that wouldn't last the long trip to where the Cullens were—which I had seen in my vision. It was a small town called…called…Spoons? No, that's wasn't it. It was some sort of plural of a utensil.

Forks—the Cullens were living in Forks.

Or had they moved already? It was always hard to identify the _when_ of visions. They had been living in Forks, but they could have moved. I had seen them leaving the town. But was that still coming or had it already happened?

I sighed and closed my eyes, letting Jasper be my eyes while I tried to focus on the Cullens' location again.

"What's wrong?" Jasper asked.

"Just vision troubles," I explained.

His body stiffened. "Did you see me—?"

"No, Jasper," I promised, "I did not see you attack someone. I'm trying to pinpoint the exact location of the Cullens."

Jasper relaxed a little. I couldn't find a way to assure him completely, but at least he trusted me—and I wasn't going to fail. If this whole trial run was a test for Jasper's resistance, it might as well be a test to how much he could trust me. I wasn't going to lead him into defeat; I was going to ensure success.

Unfortunately, ever story needs rough points before the happy ending. Just as we rounded the corner, my eyes stopped seeing where my feet were heading. I saw a boy—no older than myself—and I could almost taste his bitter-sweet fragrance. I watched in horror and fear as Jasper lunged forward and killed him, drinking his life-blood with only lust in his eyes—no remorse—that came later. Jasper's senses came to him when the boy was drunk clean and barren. Jasper looked to me with shame in his expression with hollow eyes. My vision ended with him running away from me, with Jasper's voice calling my name.

I soon realized that it was present-Jasper who was calling me and not future-Jasper. I focused my eyes on him and tried to smile. I grabbed him arm tightly, turned us around, and dragged him to the nearest exit out of town.

"Okee-dokee, it's time to go!" I said, feigning a cheerful tone.

"But we haven't been out very—"

"Doesn't matter how long we've been out," I interrupted, pulling him faster, so that a few human eyes turned to stare as our considerable speed. "All that matters is that you tried. I call this run a success."

Jasper eyed me suspiciously, but didn't say a word. I hoped it would stay that way. I didn't want to hurt his pride by revealing how close to absolute failure he had come. I knew it was a simple mistake, and that he would never hurt anyone ever again—but I wouldn't be able to convince _him_ of that. I knew he would be hard on himself—he was already beating himself enough for all the lives he had taken in his dark past. I wanted him to have a bright future, with only good things to look forward to. I wouldn't allow even a smudge on his record.

"Alice, I think the locals are getting—"

"Yeah, yeah, they'll get over it," I growled. Where the hell was the exit? Why was it so far away? Had we really wondered so far? Or was I so panicked that I was leading us in a circle?

Oh, no. There it was. It helps to see something if one opens one's eyes.

I opened my eyes—avoiding looking into the future until I was certain I had changed it—and treaded quicker. Jasper kept pace with me, but I could tell he was surprised how fast I was. Once we were out of town, I allowed myself to use full-speed. Jasper barely kept up.

I stopped when we were a mile out. I figured the boy couldn't possibly be out so far. Jasper was safe.

"Are you going to tell me what you saw?" Jasper inquired. He had puzzled together why I had dragged him away faster than a speeding bullet.

"Nope, it doesn't matter," I explained. "You made it pretty far into town without hurting so much as a fly—and there were an unnaturally high number of annoying flies—so that counts as success. Plus, I have now proven that if a situation were to arise, I can get you out of it in a flash! Quicker than lightning on a stormy day, I am."

Jasper chuckled. "Fine, Alice. Have it your way; I won't ask any questions."

I was about to respond—as I had come up with something witty to say—when a human scent caught in my nose, followed by my eyes catching the human form. The breeze had brought the smell of rained-on flowers and grass, so the girl's scent was disguised. She walked with a wicker basket full of daisies tucked under her arm. She was holding her hat down on her head with her free hand. Her wide skirt blew in the soft wind. Her face—although more feminine—looked identical to the face of the boy in my vision—

Twins, I thought. They must be twins.

I was barely able to react in time, as I was too shocked. I had thought my visions would prepare me, but they were unreliable. They didn't come when I called for them—they weren't that stable.

Jasper jumped at the girl so quickly that she didn't see him coming—didn't even hear him. But I did. I moved faster than him. I slammed his body away and struggled to shove him toward the shade of the trees, to hide. He fought against me, not even registering that it was _me_ he was fighting against. I knew he was lost to his senses, but it still annoyed me that he was clawing at me, not caring if he took off one of my limbs to get to his prey.

His teeth were about to bite down on my arm—the arm that was pushing back against his chest—when he suddenly stopped fighting me. He went limp. He fell to the ground silently, his eyes turning wide. I glanced over my shoulder to see that the girl was out of range—far enough that her scent wasn't so potent.

"Phew," I laughed. "You almost got past me, but I'm a fighter."

Jasper didn't respond. I felt my smile drop slightly.

"I'm more an 'avoid and conquer' than an 'attack head on' type," I mused. "But not I've got some good practice in. You definitely won't be getting past me next time."

"Next time…?" Jasper asked. His wide eyes stared up and met mine. He looked as if he would cry—except tears wouldn't come—tears _couldn't_ come.

I leaned down, unsure what he was grasping at. I could see immeasurable sadness and pain and remorse and despair and I didn't know what to say.

"Alice, there won't be a next time," Jasper whispered hoarsely. "It's too dangerous."

"I can protect you from you," I promised, winking at him, trying to cheer him up.

He shook his head and then, shot me serious and hard look. "But who will protect you, Alice?"

"Well, me, of course," I snorted.

"Alice, I could have hurt you," he cried, standing sharply. "I could have killed you. There's no way I can risk your life."

"I'm willing to, Jasper," I reminded him. "It's my choice what I do with my life—and protecting you and helping you overcome…this _obstacle_, well, it's exactly what I want to do, okay? There's no arguing, hon. So, you can stop worrying."

Jasper sighed heavily and shook his head again, stepping back, away from me. "No, Alice," he argued. "That isn't enough. You were lucky today. Her scent was far away and I barely caught a whiff of it. What if her scent had been strong? What if you had been caught more off-guard? I can't endanger your life. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? It isn't your fault," I assured him.

He didn't listen though. He raced away from me as fast as his body could take him.

But I was faster. I caught up with him—the feel of the ground falling faster and faster behind me and the breeze in my hair spreading a smile across my lips—and then I hopped in front of him, holding my hand forward, stopping him hard with my hand on his chest.

He wouldn't meet my eyes. He was ashamed of himself.

"Alice…"

"Jasper, you want me safe, right?" I prompted.

He nodded. "I don't want to hurt you."

I smirked devilishly. "Then teach me to fight."

He looked up—his eyes meeting mine—and I knew I had my answer. I couldn't wait.


	11. Chapter 11: Typical Day

"Some family trees bear an enormous crop of nuts." –Anonymous.

* * *

Chapter 11: Typical Day

The night was long. It was always long. There was never enough to do to keep me occupied. I felt like I was trapped in a routine of never ending order. It was the same thing over and over. I would avoid those whom I would traditionally be required to drink until they were dead. I would spend the daylight hours wanting to soak in the heat of the bright sunshine when all I could do was hideaway behind the drapes and walls of my family's house. The night would be spent studying, reading anything I could get my hands on—anything to block out the thoughts of Rosalie and Emmett, who happened to be notorious thinkers of things that simply shouldn't be thought—with respect to be siblings of a mind-reader.

At the moment I was staring out at the stars, laying with my back on the grass and my eyes searching the heavens. I believed in heaven—there had to be one. I didn't deserve to go there—not when I was….well, a being unfit for anything good and pure. The most I could ask for was my family. Carlisle had been salvation for whatever claim to a soul I had…if I could even claim part of a soul. Not that it mattered. As an immortal vampire, good company was all that was left living for.

I watched as the visible path of a meteoroid flew through earth's atmosphere. That was in scientific terms, anyway.

The world could be defined wholly within the scientific community—but some things were left unexplained. The bond my family shared, for example, that wasn't something technical. It was Carlisle's want to save lives as best he could, Esme's love and want of a family, and the love we had for each other. I had heard that love was completely unpredictable too—unexplainable—but I had never experienced it…that I could remember, aside from the love I had for my family. Maybe I had loved in my human life, but that was over and I had little memory of it. I felt no regret to have lost it, only that I had lost my soul in the process.

A shooting star, a phenomenon wished upon by lovers and children alike. I knew it had no magical power or supernatural significance—it didn't even grant wishes based on scientific evidence—but I still couldn't help but wonder how it all began. Whose great idea was it to wish on a fast-moving rock across the sky?

* * *

"C'mon, Eddie, boy," I begged. "You know you're dying to prove that your mind-reading gives you an advantage."

I had been searching for him all day, hoping to sneak off someplace hidden to give my muscles an unnecessary but exciting stretch—especially since there was a thunderstorm. It was the perfect recipe for a good match.

Edward sighed patronizingly as he shut the front door behind him. "I don't want to fight you, Emmett—and just because I know that your thinking insults at me doesn't mean I'll be tempted to fight you."

"I've got no one else man enough, Edwina," I groaned. "Carlisle is working again. And Esme's a girl. She hates fighting."

"Challenge Rose, then," Edward suggested.

I sighed. There was no way I was going to get Rose to fight. And even if I was foolish enough to ask her, I would be sleeping on my own for a month.

"Fine," I growled. "I'll just stick my nose in a book or glue my fingers to the piano, like you do."

Edward shot me a dirty look and then went off to his room—probably to sulk about life or something. I continued to sulk right where I was about my unfortunate situation.

I was living in a house full of wimps.

* * *

The image in the mirror was flawless—a carving of Aphrodite made by the hands of a master. The only thing wrong with the image was the eyes. No matter how her expressions formed, there was always a spot—an unshakable spot—that held all the tears that she couldn't cry.

I turned away from my reflection. I was humble enough to admit to being vain—ironically enough—but I wasn't vain enough to stare at myself all day long—or maybe I would be, if there weren't so many regrets sunk into the skin-deep beauty.

It was a horrible day outside—in human terms, but great for vampires. As a vampire, I was glad to be allowed outside to show off my new dress without my skin sparkling like a perfectly-cut diamond. I was trying on a long, pale pink dress with an empire-waist, like a European princess. It was simple, but the color was lovely and entirely girly. It made me feel a little brighter on the outside—compared to how I was feeling on the inside. Some days, inner demons haunt harder than others, and for me, today was one of those days.

Emmett was sulking by the stairwell. I was sure he had bugged at Edward to wrestle him. My dear Emmett was such a blockhead sometimes.

"Rainy day got you down?" I asked, already knowing.

"No," he admitted. "It's that darn Edward. He can't give up five minutes of his time to—"

"You know he can hear you," I smirked. "Are you trying to upset him? I'm telling you it won't work. He's far too clever. He'll just ignore you."

Emmett sighed. I wrapped my arms around his neck and smiled like a good, beautiful wife and used my charms to calm him.

"Do you want to join me for a walk into town?" I inquired—my tone making my words an order rather than a question.

"Why walk?"

"My engine is retired for the day," I answered. "I need to pick up a few parts in town. I need my big, strong man to assist me."

Emmett rolled his eyes, but I could see he was pleased. In a way, we suited each other too perfectly. I was vain about my beauty, and he was vain about his strength. Then again, aren't all vampires vain? We aren't more beautiful for nothing. Someone must have made it that way. Could God make such horrible creatures so beautiful?

* * *

Brown eyes, auburn hair, and a perfect, heart-shaped face. Her smile would have been youthful and charming—her eyes would have been full of life—had that spark not been taken from her. Her skin was cold—as cold as my own—and the way her chest remained motionless made my own chest ache for air.

I looked at the next table. The body was covered. I didn't dare lift it. I knew exactly how I would feel seeing his face. I knew I would see his still face and wonder if it was wrong to feel sorrow for him.

I had heard the young girl's mother; I had heard her crying. I had tried to comfort her, but how could I? How does one comfort a mother whose daughter was lost to the fault of a drunk driver? I had been a doctor a long time and I still had no promise to give a parent who lost a child suddenly.

I turned back to my chart, making sure everything was in order. I covered the young girl's body. The man who had been driving had died after hitting the girl and driving into the wall of the building across the road from where he had hit the girl. The police that arrived on the scene had found liquor in the vehicle. The girl had arrived in the hospital at the start of my shift. I hadn't been able to keep her heart beating though. I had to tell a mother she had lost her only daughter. I had watched her heart break and her tears fall through unbelieving eyes.

I heard her approach before she knocked, but I didn't look up. I didn't acknowledge her when she shut the door behind her.

"It's not your fault," Esme said.

I didn't reply. I couldn't. I knew, logically, that it wasn't my fault. She could have been assigned to any other doctor and she still couldn't have been saved. Mrs. Crowley would have lost her young Isabella whether I had been around or not. There had been no way of saving her. Isabella's life had been lost the second the driver popped the cork on his wine bottle.

"I know it's hard for you, but you can't save everyone."

"Is it wrong to try?" I asked. I hoped the edge to my voice wasn't evident. If I was to take anger out on anyone, it would be me, not Esme.

"I don't think it's wrong to try," she deliberated, "but, I do think that it is wrong to beat yourself over every soul whose life is lost early."

I looked up from Isabella's chart to meet Esme's eyes. She was leaning against the door, her hands behind her back, and her smile small and comforting. Her hair was tied neatly into a tight bun that rested underneath her gray satin pillbox hat. She wore a plain gray dress and jacket. She was beautiful, as always. She was as caring as always.

"I know you feel responsible for every young death, Carlisle," she continued, "but really, you mustn't."

I sighed. I knew she was right, but that didn't change what I felt. "What if I had been able to stop the bleeding sooner?" I questioned desperately. "What if there was something I could have done differently? What if—"

"What if the world was perfect?" Esme interrupted. She smiled more broadly and stepped away from the door, coming toward me. "What would you do then? If no one needed saving, if no one ever needed help, I think things would get rather dull."

I frowned at her. "I rather a dull world than a world where those you don't deserve to die have their lives taken from them."

Esme touched her white-gloved hand to my cheek. "I know in my heart of hearts that God doesn't make lives to that they can die; he makes souls that can one day return to him."

I closed my eyes. How was it that she could comfort me? I had just fought for a life and lost; what happiness deserved to come out of that?

Esme removed her hand from my face. I opened my eyes.

"You know as well as I do that there is no earthly justice for this," Esme admitted. "I don't believe this was fair for this poor girl and her mother—and for the man,"—she glanced over at the two covered bodies with woeful eyes—"as he lost his life too. I'm sure his family is deeply ashamed and grieved."

Esme's eyes wandered back to the girl. Sadness came over her, filling her amber eyes with a distant look. She reached her arm over to the girl and placed her hand over the cover where the girl's hand was. Esme closed her eyes and she pulled her hand away quickly and held it over her heart.

"It's hard losing a child," she whispered.

I touched her face and her eyes swept over to me. Her lips trembled and then steadied. I watched as the signs of invisible tears faded.

"I come to comfort you and I find myself being comforted," she laughed half-heartedly.

"You are the sweetest soul in this entire world," I murmured. I kissed her mouth gently. I felt her smile widen.

"I think that title belongs to you already," she quipped. "You were born first after all. I think it is first come, first served." Esme paused and her smile grew tight. "Now back to the internalizing issue."

I sighed and turned my back to her, hiding my face by concentrating my eyes on re-reading the chart of the driver.

"I worry about you," Esme admitted sadly.

"Which is why you've been having Edward check up on me frequently," I accused.

She sighed. I had guessed right; it had been Edward that had tipped her off.

I faced her, watching her eyes warm, seeing my face. Her frown was deep and concerned. Her hand was still held over her heart.

She had been here so many times, convincing me that I wasn't to blame. I could tell how I worried her. I knew it wasn't right to trouble her. As she had said so many times, those lost in my line of work were headed to a better place. Why couldn't I accept that?

I had been losing too many recently. I couldn't do any right. Was it because that I was coming across so many impossible cases? Or was it a fault of my own? Had I reached the end of my talent? Maybe there was a change coming; maybe we had stayed in one place too long and I was distracted by anticipating the move?

No, here were no excuses. I had saved lives before. I was certain I could do so again. I wasn't locked into a life of vampirism to be unable to help. I wouldn't worry my family anymore.

"I know I worry you, Esme, and I'm sorry," I apologized sincerely. "I know I can't blame myself—not anymore."

The corner of her lips pulled up into a doubting smile. "Anymore?" she asked.

"I can't say that I'll never grieve the loss of a life again," I began, "but I know that bringing my grief into your life isn't fair."

"Oh no," she argued. "Don't promise this just for me. I only care because it's hurting you."

"And you're right," I grinned. "The lives I cannot save are sad to bear witness to, but my reason for becoming a doctor is to save lives. I can't do that by mourning in here." I gestured around the room at the corpses.

Esme set her hands on her hips and smiled skeptically. "After all the pep talks I've given you, now you decide to listen to me?" she doubted.

I kissed her cheek lightly. "Yes, now," I murmured.

Esme's smile turned soft. Her eyelids closed slowly. I cupped her chin and kissed her lips once…twice…thrice…and again, for a long while, so that there was no more air in our lungs. Esme swung her arms around my neck.

The handle turned. Esme and I pulled away abruptly.

Dr. Remington looked from me to my wife, standing two feet from me, as he paused with his hand wrapped around the knob.

"Mrs. Cullen?" Remington said, with a question in his tone. His dark eyebrow arched high.

"Hello, Harold," Esme greeted charmingly. "I hope my presence isn't disrupting your business."

"No," Remington said confusedly. "But, I'm just curious why—"

"I was just telling Carlisle that my brother has been causing some interesting trouble at home," Esme explained. "A little bird told me Carlisle was in here." She winked at him; his eyes widened. "I know I'm not supposed to be in here, but I was sure that this would be a nice quiet place to talk."

Remington stood speechlessly.

"See you tonight, dear," Esme said, kissing my cheek and then heading for the door. Remington scooted aside. I didn't have Edward's talent, but from the way his eyes followed her, I could tell what he was thinking. I found myself smiling; she wasn't easy to resist.

Esme paused in the doorway and whispered in a voice low enough that Remington wouldn't hear "No more self-blaming."

I smiled; a subtle sign of a promise.

Remington closed the door. He met my eyes curiously. "Does she come here often?"

"No," I lied assuringly. "Her brother doesn't usually cause so much disturbance that she has to interrupt my work." I grinned.

Remington shook his head and laughed. "I should hope not. Emmett's his name, right?"

I nodded.

"Oh, and congratulations on his marriage," Remington cheered. "She's a lovely girl; seems real sweet."

I smirked to myself. As much as I cherished her, Rosalie was not one I would first describe as _sweet_.

* * *

Rainclouds blanketed the city. People in their suits held newspapers over their heads, caught off-guard by the weather. It had been predicted to be a sunny day. It was my luck that it wasn't. I watched as group of women stopped by the store window under their umbrellas to listen. I was barely aware of the sound coming from the piano. Even though it was my fingers that caused the music, it sounded dull and distant to me.

The women smiled and looked awed. The store owner watched cheerily as I attracted customer's to his window. I hadn't come in to attract an audience; I only vaguely remembered why I had come in at all.

I had seen the piano from the window, much like the women outside it where now. It wasn't in great condition. It was old, but in tune, as I had just discovered by playing it. The wood was faded, with several of the keys chipped, and the polish thinning. Why such a piano would be displayed in the window instead of a new, classy one puzzled me. I had asked the store owner, and he had said because it had been his grandfather's—the man who had originally opened the store. I asked permission to play, to hear how it sounded. Initially, I had been impressed. The sound was flawless—there was something special about it—something _interesting_. But, as the notes continued to ring, I found less intrigue.

Like all things recently, the piano had become dull to me. I had attributed my wariness to the knowledge of having to move town soon, as we had been in one place for long enough for people to notice we weren't aging as we should. But that wasn't it. I knew that now. I just couldn't figure out what. What was making me so intolerable to static immortal life? None of the other members of my family were so tired of the same thing. Why was I becoming so restless?

"Ho ho—would you look at that!?" I cheered.

"There's nothing exciting about it, Emmett," Rose frowned.

"I'm sure I could do better—but it was still a great hit," I praised. "You could hear that sound clear through the radio! And from across the street too!"

She rolled her eyes. Rose didn't find the same thrill with baseball as I did.

"C'mon, Rose," I whined. "We got your parts. Can't I enjoy downtown a little now?"

"Enjoyment later, home now," she instructed. "If my engine isn't running by three o'clock, I swear you will face my wrath."

"That's one of the seven deadly sins," I warned teasingly.

Her eyes turned cold on me. "I don't think those count when you're damned anyway," she retorted.

"We're not damned," I argued.

"You believe what you want," Rosalie sighed angrily. "Carlisle is a smart man in all ways except that, in my opinion."

"I think Carlisle is right," I mumbled, not sure if bringing her wrath on me was what I wanted or if fighting to convince her to be a little positive for a change was the better option.

"If I wasn't trying to win public opinion I would carry the parts home myself," Rosalie snapped.

"Don't be like that," I begged, grabbing her wrist as she sped ahead of me.

She tore her wrist out of my grip and crossed her arms over her chest. She faced her scowl ahead and raised her chin pompously into the air. Her figure showed all the signs of icy anger. Still, I couldn't help by admit that she was beautiful even when her emotions flashed from heat to ice from one statement or another.

"I know your eyes are not where they should be," she emphasized sharply. "Eyes up, Emmett, darling."

When I raised my eyes, I caught her smiling half-heartedly at me over her shoulder. She slowed down and allowed her speed to look more lady-like. I watched her face as she walked beside me. Her face was cast downward. Her eyes were a shade of light amber—so her mood wasn't to be blamed on thirst. I knew I was going to regret it later, but I couldn't bear to see her so sad. I had to ask, if there was any chance of fixing whatever was hurting her so bad.

"Why are you upset, Rose?" I asked, wrapping my arm around her and rubbing her shoulder consolingly.

"I'm not upset," she lied.

"You know you're beautiful, Rose," I reminded her.

She smiled a little. "And?" she laughed. "Is that the answer to happiness?"

"If it was, you would be the happiest person on earth," I replied. "You'd be happier than all the angels. I think the whole world would envy you."

"That's one of the seven deadly sins, Emmett," she gasped teasingly.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I figured you would say that."

She smirked; proud that she had outsmarted me. She let her eyes fall again.

"Tell me what this is about," I pleaded. "You've been moping all morning."

"I haven't been moping."

"I've known you long enough to recognize when you're moping," I snorted.

She closed her eyes, seeming worn out.

"Is this something new or something old?" I asked.

"Is is something blue or something borrowed?" she sneered, ripping her body away from me.

"I had a feeling that was the case," I grumbled. "I'm sorry I can't make you happy, Rosalie."

Her feet stopped. I stopped behind her, waiting. Her eyes flashed over her shoulder. I could trace the signs of sorrow, of grief, of tears that couldn't be cried—because of what we were. Her lower lip trembled and I could see her struggle to make it stop. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

"Emmett, you do make me happy," she cried. "This…this isn't your fault. This is all me."

She raced forward at as human a speed she could manage. I stood unknowingly, unsure whether I was doing the right thing by letting her run off. I knew that she would be back at the house once she had mourned her unreachable dream-life again. I just wished there was some answer to her pain.

* * *

The rain was cold. I knew it logically. I also knew it was impossible for it to numb me. I was what I was, and no naturally occurring thing could harm me. I was unnaturally, thus my pain was the pain of someone who couldn't be frozen by rain or marked by age. I couldn't close my eyes and restore how drained and tired I felt since I couldn't sleep. I couldn't have a life like natural beings could. Still, I wanted to.

When Emmett had been preoccupied by the sounds of a baseball broadcast I had had my eyes on a mother holding the hand of a blue-eyed little boy. His eyes stretched with wonder over the sight around him. His neck strained around, hearing the sounds of the city air. Curiosity pulled him every which way. His mother struggled to bring him into the general goods store, unaware in that moment of how precious that second of his life was. It was a second he would never have again—a second she would never get to experience again. He would grow and she would age. He would marry and have children and she would wrinkle. He would visit her as she and her husband grew old in a dusty house. They would have lives and they would have deaths. I would never be so lucky.

I screamed and threw my head back. I had run far enough away that no human would hear. Even in a human did so happen to wander by me, they would be surprised to see someone so outwardly beautiful so inwardly hideous. I knew my reflection well and I had learned to see through the skin and deliberate whether what I saw underneath was a soul or just a wish for one to be there. I knew that my voice—even under the stress of a scream—even soft like the whisper of seraphim—was of no use to me. It couldn't be loud enough or quiet enough to reach the only one capable of granting my wish. If God was listening, he certainly wasn't answering. If he had ever been listening, he had ignored me.

I had been greedy my entire human life. I had been bred that way. My father and mother had trained me to take all that I could from the world, to flaunt all that God had given me—mainly, my beauty, which had been human and earthly then. If I had not reached so high, maybe I would have been happier. My goal was lofty—and I was rewarded by finding out how being the wife of a King was nothing to want. I had been robbed of my life and then I had been cursed into another existence.

If I had one do-over in my life, I wouldn't have allowed myself a life where I couldn't hold a child of my own in my arms. I would do-over accepting _his_ hand.

Still, Emmett hadn't been around then to be my knight in shining armor. It was hard for me to imagine finding someone as perfect as him for me in the whole world. Yet, I was hurting him. I hated that my past and my regret could haunt me so—that it would break through the surface of my skin and be so easily read by him. Emmett was no mind-reader; he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer; I wasn't the easiest book to read; but he could still read me. How could I put him in so much pain?

The sky was clearing. The droplets were less frequent. I knew I had to be getting back. I didn't need to worry Emmett anymore than I already did. I looked down at my rain-soaked dress, which had once been beautiful, but now seemed wrinkled and used.

I headed back, focusing all my concentration on composing an expression that wasn't so forlorn. My dress dried out a little. The day had chilled though, as the sun had dropped lower and lower from the heavens.

The sky was dark by the time I reached the house. I hadn't noticed the sun set. I was just about to open the door when Edward opened it, coming out. His face was unreadable—as I'm sure mine was—as his mind peered unconsciously into my thoughts. He smiled at me sadly, somehow on the same page with me for the first time.

He passed me without a word. I watched him, finding my thoughts focused on him. I asked a question in my thoughts, but he didn't answer, or even acknowledge me.

It had been the first time I had seen his face so empty—and not the last. He wouldn't lose the expression for a long time—fifty more years or so. Not that I would be willing to admit to the case of that change—ever.

But that wouldn't happen for many, many more days. It was only that night and Emmett's face as he heard me enter that mattered. His face lit up like a child who had received a puppy for a birthday present when I crossed the threshold.

_Never again_, I promised myself. _I'll never hurt him with my regrets again_. _After all_, _what's the use of crying over spilt milk_?

* * *

It was another long night. The stars were out again, shining brightly, twinkling like out of a children's bedtime story, as if bragging amongst themselves who was the most brilliant. I had been seeing these same unchanging stars for almost fifty years. I wished I had been able to change with them.

Another shooting star flew through the sky, racing to meet every eye that wanted to make a wish that night. I immediately thought of Rosalie. I had read through her thoughts that night and was reminded that I wasn't the only one tortured by how we couldn't change.

_What's wrong_? She had framed the question with her mind and had expected an answer, but I had none to give. If I had the answer, it would be easier to stop whatever was making life so unbearable recently.

If a shooting star really could grant one's wishes, Rosalie would have wished herself a human life with a child already. As for the remainder of my family, part of me knew that there was nothing more they could wish for—except for Rosalie's acceptance of her life and maybe her happiness. I knew Esme watched me with worry some days—perhaps she might wish for me. If I were to wish, I knew that as long as my family was happy, I should be happy. So why wasn't I? There felt like something was missing—but what could it be?

I watched as the star vanished from my view. I closed my eyes and fished for some reason behind what was bothering me.

I opened my eyes again, suddenly driven by the idea of a making some sort of attempt at forcing myself into happiness. I tried to form some wish in my mind. Simply wanting a meteor to make me happy seemed ridiculous.

"Maybe just make something _interesting_ happen," I whispered to myself.

I listened closely to the darkness, half expecting my wish to have come true. It didn't though.

I laughed at myself and brushed off the ridiculous idea. I wasn't going to waste my time on meteors again.

* * *

I opened my eyes sharply. My lips curled into a smile. "Yippee!" I cheered excitedly.

Jasper stared at me confusedly. "What did you see?"

I grinned at him devilishly. "It's time," I answered.

"Time?" he questioned. I found myself pleased by him being unable to guess the good news.

I smirked impishly and began skipping away. Jasper quickly caught up to me. He seemed to deliberate telling me that leaving in the middle of waiting in a line-up to purchase shoes was a little…Well, I wasn't sure what word he was going to use, my sight cut-off there as he decided against it—which was a wise choice. I didn't like the shoes enough anyway; my vision was more important.

"Jasper, I have such good news," I giggled.

He smiled patiently. I clapped my hands together excitedly. The store's door closed behind us. I had set the unpaid for shoes down without regret inside the store.

"Did you see yourself beat me again?" he wondered.

"No," I snapped impatiently. He had already taught me so much—and my A_MAZING_ speed gave me such an advantage—that I had beaten him several times already.

"Jasper," I continued excitedly. "We finally get to meet the Cullens."

Jasper's eyes widened nervously. He somehow thought he wasn't ready to be around people, even with how much he had improved since The Incident (which I only called it that because it was just fun to say and import sounding).

"In about three hours," I answered. "So full speed ahead!"


	12. Chapter 12: The Little Ball of Fire

"An ounce of blood is worth more than a pound of friendship." – Spanish proverb

Appropriate for a vampire story, is it not?

* * *

Chapter 12: The Little Ball of Fire

There were five of them. Two pretty ladies and three gentlemen. I almost laughed, seeing them, recognizing them, without them recognizing me. Sure, Jasper and I had disguised our scents pretty well, and we were on the opposite side of the street, but I knew how our heightened senses worked. It wouldn't be much longer before one of them noticed.

Rosalie wouldn't notice. It wasn't her area of expertise. I didn't expect Emmett to notice either. Maybe if I was on my own he would have, but Jasper had been in charge of how we were to approach the Cullens, and he had made sure that Emmett wouldn't be the first to notice. Sure, the perfume was blocking the use of my own nose, but Emmett, Esme, Rosalie, and even Carlisle were oblivious to us as we sat in the restaurant watching the Cullens make their way lazily across the road.

Jasper and I had arrived in the city early in the afternoon and had plenty of time to think over how we were going to make contact with our future family. I knew they would accept us, but I wasn't stupid. I knew my vision could change if we startled them. I wanted them to welcome us, not figuratively die of figurative heart attacks—since, vampires couldn't die of heart attacks, after all. Jasper was sure we'd scare them no matter how we met with them, but it was best to be more tactful about it. I didn't agree with the sneaky approach, but if it made Jasper feel better, I wouldn't argue. He was already having a panic attack being surrounded by so many people.

So, the plan was to gather as much information about the Cullens before barging into their lives. I already knew a lot through my visions, but I needed to be in closer proximity, to be more connected with them, before I knew enough for Jasper to want to make a move. I had seen that the Cullens would be passing by us late in the evening of the day we first arrived. Jasper immediately decided that they couldn't know that two vampires had arrived in their territory yet. (I had told him that Carlisle would want to talk things out and not go into conflict, but Jasper didn't believe me. So, I stuck my tongue out at him and went along with his plans.) I did as he directed by spraying myself with a very strong perfume, to disguise my scent, since I had been hopping around the street for an hour, trying to figure out the exact location the Cullens would be when we would see them. After finding out where they would be, Jasper decided that being behind glass mixed in with a bunch of human scents would disguise us further. There was a restaurant across the street from where my vision placed the Cullens, so I booked us a seat by the window for the approximate time of day they would be there.

It had all worked out so far. It was after sunset. The city's nightlife was quiet. The vampires were out. I wasn't too good at being secretive though, because when I saw them I tapped on the window and started squealing "There they are! Jasper! Look! There they are!" Jasper shushed me, smilingly, shaking his head and bringing my hands away from the window.

"Now, is there anything new coming to you?" Jasper asked calmly.

I closed my eyes and focused. I grinned.

"What do you see?"

"They're going to win the lottery," I said. "Thanks to me—or, I guess, thanks to them doubting my amazing powers, they'll need evidence to prove my visions do work. That's how they'll win the lottery." I opened my eyes. "I am so going to love having lots and lots of shopping money."

Jasper stared at me curiously. "What's the lottery?" he asked.

"I will explain later," I giggled. "Right now, I think we should go introduce ourselves."

I had jumped up to leave, but Jasper caught my arm. "Not yet," he said.

"What!?" I frowned at him. Was he crazy? This was the perfect opportunity! The Cullens were in a good mood, there were people around so that Jasper didn't have to worry about Emmett spontaneously springing on him, and Rosalie had just bought a beautiful new dress that I wanted to admire.

"What are the Cullens' plans for tonight?" Jasper questioned.

"They're on their way home right now," I said. "Carlisle doesn't have a shift until the morning."

"They're all going to their home right now?"

"Yes! That's just what I…" I trailed off, my eyes drifting into a vision. I found myself smiling. I sat down and opened my eyes. I stared across the street just as Edward turned his head toward the restraint, unintentionally catching my eyes. _Hello_, I greeted.

Edward looked away without a second thought. He had barely seen me. But, that was just what was playing across his expression. I knew he was contemplating telling Carlisle that he had seen two suspicious characters in the restraint across the street—suspicious in a pale faced, golden-eyed, vampire-like characters. But he wouldn't. He was going for a long walk. He wouldn't be back until morning.

In truth, it would be easier to convince the Cullens that I was safe and meant all that I was about to say to them if Edward was with them, but I didn't want the easy course. I wanted a bit of a challenge. So, naturally, I told Jasper that Edward was leaving and that put the numbers more in our favor. And he believed me. Ha! Besides, I knew that Edward and I would get along swimmingly. The freaks of the freaks; we were two of a kind. Edward was like Jasper and I, after all. I could already see the bond forming in our future. Edward and I would know things we shouldn't know yet; that would make being close to him easier. The rest of the Cullens would just have to learn to love me—as much as I loved them.

"Let's go _now_," I ordered.

"Wait," Jasper insisted.

"What's the point in waiting any longer?" I growled in annoyance. "I told you, Edward is as gone as snow in a Florida summer."

Jasper cocked a brow at my strange saying. I was just testing it out. Honestly, I didn't approve of it either. It did make Jasper smile though, so that was a good thing.

"Pl_ease_," I begged. I pouted my lip and clasped my hands together.

He looked away, hiding his grin, knowing he was unable to resist me.

"How about five minutes of waiting and then we go meet and greet?" I bargained.

"I don't know," he sighed, closing his eyes.

I reached my hands across the table and touched the back of his hand. Jasper turned to look at me. He looked worried.

"You'll do fine," I told him, smiling reassuringly. "No killing humans in your future."

"Not so far," he corrected. "It could still happen."

"The future isn't set in stone," I agreed slowly. "But hearts don't change."

Jasper laughed coldly, dropping his eyes. "I don't agree with that. I've seen hearts change. My heart has changed. I used to not question violence, Alice. I used to not care about killing."

"No," I argued. "I don't believe that. I think you suppressed it. Why else would you have left Maria? And then Peter and Charlotte? You knew you were searching for a life without violence and death."

"Even as a human, Alice, I was involved in—"

"Yes, war," I sighed dismissively. "Now you're just looking for excuses. Jasper, I know you. I won't let you slip up, okay?"

Jasper shook his head. "Don't take on that responsibility," he said. "It's _my_ burden to bear."

"No," I growled aggressively, so that he looked me in the eyes. "It's both of our responsibilities. You are not in this alone."

He watched my eyes for a moment. I wasn't sure if he was searching for another excuse or if he was searching for more confidence. Whatever he found, he smiled nervously at me. I promised myself at that point—just as I had promised him—that I wouldn't allow him to disappoint himself. He had a good heart. I had never seen so much love there before. How could he not have _always_ been good? I wasn't going to give him room to doubt himself.

"Plus, with the Cullens on our side," I added, "you'll be even more successful. Especially, if we go after them now, I think."

Jasper rolled his eyes and grinned at the now light conversation.

"You can't argue with that, now can you?" I tempted, biting my lip.

"Fine, Alice," he agreed.

My eyes widened with excitement. "Honestly?"

"Yes."

"Yahoo!" I exclaimed. "Let's go, partner."

I tugged on Jasper's arm and bolted for the door. Jasper left money on the table—for untouched water and uneaten bread—and laughed at my eagerness as the bell rung hectically as we were out of the restaurant at top speed—human top speed, of course. I was maybe a little too eager, but this was going to be my family! I had never had a family—that I remembered—so I wanted to know what it was like. From what I could see so far, it was going to be amazing having a home and people to feel welcome around. Jasper would love it too. I knew he would. He needed to be around others who were alike in our interests—especially the human concerned interests. It would be easier on him with more than just me to support him. He would have a whole support system!

I didn't obey traffic rules chasing the Cullens—they were to slow and annoying to pay attention to! The lights prevented pedestrians from crossing—that's _regular_ pedestrians. Jasper and I could easily cross the road without being injured. So what was the point of the hold-up? There wasn't one. I had more important things to do than wait around for the cars to _allow_ me to cross the road.

"I think you're excited," Jasper commented behind me.

I giggled. Excited? I was ecstatic! I was in a state of pure pleasure. I was practically hyperventilating with joy. I couldn't control my own feet. I was flying. I could envision in my own head that very so I would have everything I could ever want—more than I had the imagination to dream of. I had Jasper's love and I could have a family to love. There was nothing else in the world—_except_ maybe the occasional handbag in store windows—that would cross my mind as important again.

"We're almost there," I squealed.

I heard Jasper chuckle behind me. He found my joy amusing; I could also tell he was as happy as I was by his laughter. This was going to be the epitome of dreams coming true! Had I wished on a lucky star or what?

I stopped. Jasper stopped beside me. With both looked up at the old Victorian house that had been restyled with the latest house fixings. It had a certain modern appeal as well as that of a historical and elegant look. It seemed to come from the age of Queen Victoria herself. It looked more taken care of the homes built in that era that I had glanced at in towns I had passed through. It was white. The roof tiles were a lighter shade of gray. It was fresh, clean, and open. The porch was long and wide, good for pacing in the late-night air. The balcony was smaller, but pretty with iron railing. It looked more like a mansion. Maybe it had been expanded? It was a very picturesque home. I couldn't wait to move in! I just hoped there were enough rooms…oh, well. Ha, mostly.

"Do you want to go in or just stare at it?" Jasper joked.

I smiled. "I'm not sure. I'm nervous."

"What? You said you saw that everything would go over fine?"

I giggled at the panic in his voice. He didn't understand what I was worried about.

"I don't know what having a family feels like," I said quietly.

He didn't reply. He face turned solemn. He didn't have an answer for me.

"At least you have some memory of who you were, Jasper," I complained—unintentionally making him frown. "I have no idea who I was. I only barely remembered that my name was Alice. Or maybe it was my mother's name! If I had a mother…I don't know. Maybe I just appeared out of the blue. Is that possible?"

"I don't know who you were Alice," he said huskily, taking me in his arms and hugging me tightly. "I only know who you are. I'm sorry I can't help you figure out your past. I'll help you figure out this though."

"Thanks," I said, glad I couldn't cry. It would ruin his shirt and it looked stunning on him, so I would hate to ruin it.

"It's just like you said to me; you have a good heart, Alice," he continued sweetly. "That doesn't change, right? So you must have had love. You must have had lots of great friends that constantly were saying your name—so that's why you remember it. Maybe I've taken you away from some wonderful fiancé too?"

I rolled my eyes. "I don't think anyone could quite beat you, Jasper," I said honestly, feeling cheered up. I pulled myself away—barely—from Jasper to give the house one last glance. "Are you ready?"

"Definitely. Are you?"

I grinned. "Definitely," I echoed. "Let's go."

We walked up, hand in hand for support, taking the porch steps one at a time. I knocked on the door loudly, knowing they would hear even if I knocked quietly. I was just too nervous and excited to do anything else but knock hard—I was barely holding my strength back from knocking the door down! If I had a beating heart, it would have been thrumming like it had never before.

When the door opened, my mind went blank. I managed to keep my smile in place though. I tried to remember his name. Blonde hair, tall, the doctor…the father figure…holy! How could I forget? Was I going to black out and lose my memory again?

"Hello, Carlisle," I said, relaxing when I remembered his name out loud.

His eyes widened. "How do you know my name?"

I stuck out my hand for a handshake. _Take things easy_, I reminded myself. _Go slowly_, _they don't know you _yet.

"I'm Alice," I said. Carlisle awkwardly stared at my hand and hesitantly went to shake it. When he took my hand I found that my head was clearer. My vision no longer has two paths. I knew where I was headed.

"This is Jasper."

"Hello," Carlisle greeted, finally getting over the initial shock. He definitely knew what we were now. He could tell from the temperature of my hand. No one else had quite the lifestyle he had, apparently, so he hadn't recognized the color of our eyes to give us away. "Why don't you come inside?"

"Of course," I agreed eagerly. "So nice of you to offer; I can't wait to see how pretty it is on the inside! Oh, I can't wait to meet the rest of your family."

As he allowed us in, he glanced at me strangely. Oops, I let it slip! How was a stranger to know about his family? Not that it mattered. I didn't consider myself a stranger. I might as well let the whole cat out of the bag. I was going to eventually, wasn't I?

The Cullens stood immediately before me, facing the possible threat. I was so enthralled by seeing them so close up! Their expressions were strange though. I hadn't seen their futures where they were so worried about someone coming into their home—and that someone being me—and Jasper!

"Hello," I started. Then, I caught Rosalie, practically barring her teeth at me, in the pretty dress! I couldn't resist sizing her up—which earned me a growl from Emmett.

"Rosalie I absolutely love that color on you!" I exclaimed. Her eyes went wide. If the room had been quiet before, it was dead silent now. Even the white noise seemed to have gone mute.

"I think there is a slight flaw in the waist though," I observed. "But you're a mechanic, not a designer. I guess you're even more of a model than a designer. I could easily fix that though. You have great taste."

I saw Esme next. Her cream-colored skin and soft-curled, dark hair which framed her beautiful face all added to her sweet, motherly persona. She was beautiful. I had never imagined a mother, but if I had, it couldn't have been more perfect than her. Something in her eyes—even as worried as she was for her family with the presence of Jasper and I near, I could see such warmth and love in her eyes. How wonderful it would be to be around someone so kind and—and I couldn't think of any other word than warm—and sweet. A soft smiled spread over my lips and invisible, imaginary tears welled up in my eyes.

"Esme, your home is so beautiful," I complimented warmly, trying to match up to her standards as best I could. "I was admiring it from the outside but it's even more wonderful in here."

"Thank you," she said, stunned.

"Emmett," I greeted loudly. He jumped. "Ha, I knew I would get you."

He growled. "How do you know our names?" he demanded roughly. His pride was hurt; he was supposed to be the tough guy.

"Oh, I know more than that," I said mysteriously. I could feel Jasper tighten beside me. He probably thought I was going overboard and was putting us in danger. I knew exactly what was going to happen though. It didn't end in a fight—well, okay, it did, but not _that_ kind of fight.

"Right here," I said, gesturing to Jasper. "Emmett, you've been looking for someone to spar with and right here's your guy."

Emmett's eyes widened and he seemed to stare at me with the question "How did you know?" in his eyes. I merely grinned and continued speaking with familiarity. I ignored the slight nervous glance Jasper shot me.

"Oh, but that's just some bonus fun," I rambled. "You're all probably wondering what's going on and why I know your names. You don't have Edward here to read my mind and tell you if what I am about to claim is legitimate or not, but I assure you it is. You don't need a mind reader; you can trust me, and trust us." I gestured to Jasper again, making sure I didn't leave him out. He probably felt awkward enough as it was, especially with the wide-eyed future-family staring from me to him.

"Mind reading?" Rosalie snapped. "We don't know what you're talking about."

"Rosalie," Esme warned softly.

"Give them a chance," Carlisle added. "They have obviously heard of our feeding habits and have adapted them successfully. We might have the same values."

Rosalie didn't seem to take this in. She didn't relax. Emmett didn't either; they seemed a perfect match, more than I'd known.

"Okay, long story short, I have visions of things to come," I summarized, stunning them more so. "Jasper and I want to preserve human life as you do; we do not feed on humans. I have had plenty of practice, as I took on feeding on animals very soon after I…well, I became a vampire. I introduced the diet to Jasper after I met up with him. I had a vision of your family, and immediately knew that we had to meet."

"I don't trust her," Emmett snapped at Carlisle. "How can she be psychic? What am I about to do, Vision Girl?"

I smirked. "You are going to be disappointed," I warned him.

Esme took that seriously; Rosalie didn't care; Emmett took it with a grain of salt. Carlisle stared at me as though I were test results in a laboratory. Emmett seemed about to question me, but he wanted proof and I was about to give it to him.

"If you turn on your television set," I said—and ignored the confusion of how on earth I knew they had one, "the Jack Benny Show is on."

As no one moved, I sighed and helped myself. I turned it on to studio laughter and Jack Benny shouting, "_Well_!" I turned it off and then went over to the front window.

"There is a bird about to fly by," I said. "It's a robin. Male. Likes long walks in the park and Rosalie's singing voice."

A robin flew by the window. I paused.

"A dog is about to bark half a mile away," I said. The dog barked. I grinned and did an exaggerated curtsy. "What more proof is required?"

Emmett laughed, still stunned. "Fine, then. I believe," he assured me. "Just don't do any more freaky predictions."

I giggled. "I knew you'd warm up to me!"

"Now, see, that was exactly what I was talking about," Emmett grinned. "No more."

"I can't promise that," I warned him, smirking to myself. I certainly wasn't going to be keeping the future to myself for the (hopefully) long time I would be with them.

"Why are you here?" Rosalie asked curiously.

"Alice's vision," Jasper answered, speaking up for the first time, "as she previously said."

I watched the way they reacted to him. He was definitely not unnoticeable, but I was surprised by their reaction. Was it the fact that he had so many scars—scars that could only have come with battle from others of our kind? I knew Emmett looked more impressed than frightened, but Rosalie wasn't taking immediate like to him.

Rosalie was persistent. "What about Alice's vision?"

I was bursting with excitement. I skipped over to Jasper's side again and nearly had to use interpretive dance to show how happy I was. I didn't though; that might alter the good outcome of my vision.

"I had a vision of you—all of you—and me," I sang. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I've been tracking you down for decades. I've seen your family, and I want to be a part of it! Jasper and I came all this way, just to ask you if we could join you."

No response. I could see Esme's eyes though. Her heart was melting for Jasper and I. My heart was melting for her too.

"I've fallen in love with all of you from my visions," I continued, squeezing Jasper's arm for support. "I've told Jasper everything about you non-stop, and he's been practicing restraining himself to join you too! You are all so wonderful."

"Wonderful as we may be," Rosalie chastised, "we don't know anything about _you_. Whether you know about us isn't the issue anymore. We get that you see what is to come."

"You want the whole story?" I gaped. "I don't know. It's kind of long."

"We can't trust you until we know more about you," she insisted.

I smiled. In her own way, she was already welcoming me. She hadn't said that she _couldn't_ trust me, only that she couldn't trust me _yet_; she needed a back-story.

So, I spent two hours telling my story as well as Jasper's story in detail, with some comments from the Cullens here and there, as well as some questions. Jasper added little bits of information that I had missed through my visions of his life. It wasn't even that far into our story that I had won Emmett over. He appreciated Jasper's story the best. My questionable beginning wowed them all. Rosalie didn't understand how I could have found my own way alone. Carlisle and I, in a way, were kindred spirits; we had both started alone and without guidance. I won his trust when I told him of my struggle, and how I came to feed on animals. Rosalie was mostly won over by the end, but I knew that the strongest friendships continue to build over time. I would have time to build ours.

"What an interesting start," Esme commented when I had finished.

"So you have no clue of who made you?" Carlisle asked again.

I shook my head. "I woke up in a cemetery," I laughed. "How strange, right? That's all I know though."

"Well, Alice," Carlisle smirked, "I think I speak for all of us when I say you are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish."

"What about Edward?" Rosalie questioned, just so that she didn't seem to agreeable, probably.

"He won't mind," Esme and I said in unison.

"Freaky," Emmett muttered.

"You'll get used to it," I assured him.

"More freaky, Alice," he sighed. "First Edward and now you." He shook his head.

"And Jasper," I added. They all looked at me like I was mad. "He can control moods."

Carlisle's eyes widened with intrigue. "Interesting," he mumbled.

"Has he been controlling our moods and manipulating us this whole time?" Rosalie demanded.

"No," Jasper answered, calming everyone immediately except Rosalie with just his answer. "I thought that would be unwise for when I was to tell you. I didn't think it would be easy to win your trust if I was manipulating your behaviors."

"See? We are totally trustworthy, Rosalie."

"I'm not completely sure yet."

"You will be," I promised.

"You plan on staying for a while," Esme stated, as if she had the same talent as I did.

"Yes."

Her eyes brightened. "You seem sweet," she complimented. "I like you very much already. But, did you really come to make friends with us?"

"Indisputably," I reassured her. "I don't know if I've ever had a family, but I've seen you and your family and…I know my heart doesn't beat but it feels like it swells in my chest every time I think about you. I would love more than to be a part of your family." I paused and drew in a breath, to let them absorb that motion. "I understand if that's too soon. I've known you a lot longer than you've known me. I completely understand."

Esme glanced at Carlisle meaningfully, smiling in a sweet, motherly, warm way. He smiled too. Esme looked to Emmett and Rosalie next. Emmett shrugged and smirked. Rosalie rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile. Esme then, finally, came up to me, took my hands gently, and looked me in the eyes.

"Welcome to the family," she greeted.

I was in a state of unbearable happiness. If it were possible, I would have cried. All I could do was fling my arms around her in an excited frenzy. I went to Carlisle and thanked him excessively and Esme extended a hug toward Jasper. I was shifted over to thank Emmett while watching Jasper in the warm embrace of the mother figure we had now adopted. I was grinned so widely by the time I reached Rosalie that I thought my lips might wind around the back of my head. They didn't though. That would have been strange.

Rosalie was hesitant to hug me.

"You can trust me, Rose," I promised.

Her eyes narrowed for a second. Her face was set with indecision. But her arms uncrossed from her chest and she opened her arms to me and smiled. "I know."

I embraced my sister and hoped that she would continue to trust me. My vision could only so see far. I hoped no troubles were in the distant future.

"Now, if you're going to stay, you have to have a room," Rosalie decided. She glanced at Carlisle and Esme, who were arm in arm.

Esme shrugged. "Sure."

"I already have one in mind," I said impishly

"Not mine," Rosalie frowned.

"No, you and Emmett can keep your room," I assured her. "I like the balcony view."

"Well, we're in the far room by the balcony and Edward claimed the other," Esme stated, with a little bit of concern in her tone.

"I think I'm going to kick Edward out."

Rosalie laughed. She laughed so hard she had to hold her sides.

"He might not like that," Jasper told me cautiously.

"Kick Edward out," Emmett suggested. "I think he'd love that idea."

"I'm going to kick Edward out," I decided. "He needs a change of scenery anyway."

Carlisle frowned now. He had sensed that Edward was becoming distant. A change of scenery was always best for that. (Even if that wasn't what was best, I wanted his room.)

"Edward won't be back for a while," I said. "There's plenty of time."

"You're being serious," Esme smirked.

I nodded my head. "I think I should start now. But if there are any objections…?" I waited. No objections. "Okay, Jasper. You can help." I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the stairs. "Are there any other volunteers, family?"

Emmett joined us. He wanted an excuse to make Edward angry, maybe get a good fight out of him.

All the while we were moving Edward's stuff—which was mostly records, music books, and heavy reading material, like 'What Is the Soul?'—Emmett questioned Jasper about his days with Maria, fighting for his life. Emmett was begging for a good fight by the end. Jasper couldn't resist a chance to show off his skill, especially if it meant a way to get closer in the family. He promised that he would allow Emmett a challenge the second I released him.

Rosalie deemed the garage a suitable place for Edward's things. She said it was fine as long as it didn't get in the way of her tuning and tinkering with her vehicle. I swore a solemn oath her garage would not be put to harm. She was satisfied with that and even offered to help me decorate the room, along with Esme, and go to town in the morning and fix it up. I was thrilled by the idea of quality time together—and a room designed by brilliant Esme! She had her home so well made that I couldn't help but praise her. I had thought she just kept it tidy, but she had told me that home design was her passion. I hadn't been able to stop complimenting her since—in between complimenting Rosalie on her wardrobe and how she had decorated the room she and Emmett shared. I was clearly going to get along with the other two ladies of the household.

The day was breaking before I even remembered that I was working for their trust and their companionship. It felt too natural, too easy. Jasper seemed to be doing equally well. He had been so worried—and all for nothing! I had told him to run off and play "Let's beat each other up" with Emmett and the two had eternally bonded because of it. Rosalie and Esme came with me into town for the opening of the shops to start purchasing my room, bit by bit.

I had never been so happy. I couldn't remember a time…but there it was, wasn't it? I couldn't remember a time, or any time at all, before my change. Something inside me was wondering if I had left a family behind, people who cared for me, or a family that loved me deeply. Had there been a love like Jasper in my old life? Something in my chest—whether it was my heart or my soul—told me I had never known love like I did now. Part of me relished in that thought, but part of me was suddenly, very desperately, depressed.

What had I left behind?

* * *

_"What's happened?"_

_"Her head is bleeding!"_

_"Someone call Mr. Collins."_

_"Where is Mr. Colopatiron? He always knows what's happened to Miss Brandon."_

_"Someone should stop the bleeding!"_

"Alice?"

_"Wasn't she with Mr. Collins this morning?"_

"Alice, are you alright? What are you seeing?"

_"Mr. Aisse! I just found Mr. Collins."_

"Alice, you're shaking."

_"Good Lord, by what do you mean 'found'?"_

"Alice?"

"Dead," I replied. I opened my eyes and met Jasper's nervous expression.

"What did you see?" he asked.

I stared at him in confusion. "I didn't see anything," I said.

"You were talking about Mr. Collins and Mr. Colopatiron," he murmured quietly, nervously trying to job my memory.

"I don't think so," I said with a wink. "Maybe I was dreaming?"

Jasper didn't find this so funny.

"Come along," I said, hopping up from the store's so-called 'comfy' cushion. It felt like a rock to me. "I told Rosalie I would meet her back at the house for when Edward got back. She assured me his expression would be without a price. I saw it; it is going to be funny."

"Alice," Jasper sighed.

"There's nothing to worry about, Jasper," I reassured him. "I'm fine. You're fine. We're all fine. Except Edward, who is merely okay. But I will brighten up his day later!" I winked at Jasper, to restate the fact that I wasn't worried about some non-vision I had apparently had. "This is one very important date to which we don't want to be late."


	13. Chapter 13: The Midnight Sun

Ask Alice – the story of Mary Alice Brandon.

* * *

"What we remember from childhood we remember forever—permanent ghosts, stamped, imprinted, eternally seen." – Cynthia Ozick

* * *

**Chapter 13: The Midnight Sun**

* * *

_Edward_

To say I was surprised would be an understatement. To say I was dumbfounded would be too subtle. I was completely knocked for six and all it took was to read Rosalie's mind. She was laughing at the image of my things in the garage.

I came home with the hope she was just thinking about doing such a thing and having actually enacted it. It was only a slight hope. I knew as soon as I heard two more minds that there was an undeniable change. My displacement was one of many changes.

I must have stood staring at my things for at least an hour, struck and uncertain what to do. I knew I would only be mocked if I asked Rosalie what had happened—as her every thought was about my misery. (Was it so humiliating for her that I rejected her because beauty was not the equivalent to love or even lust in my world?) Emmett, too, was enjoying my obvious displeasure. He had come to fetch me once the dirty deed was completed. I had barely believed him. Rosalie had popped her head into the garage to see my expression, threw her head back with uncontrollable laughter, and disappeared into the house before she collapsed from a humor attack. Neither Carlisle nor Esme explained it to me. Carlisle was distractedly thinking of other things—trying to block me out. Esme was thinking over designs for a new house.

That's how I discovered the new voices. I was listening for any sign of an explanation. Male and female; tall and short; worrywart and carefree; they were a pair of distinguishable differences in their thought. Different in all except that they too were thinking of things that wouldn't tip me off to what the sudden change was all about. He was thinking of her face and she was picturing him. Just was I was tuned into her thoughts, I heard her greet me.

_Hello, Edward_, she thought, somehow knowing that I was listening to her from the second story. I turned my head to see her standing across from me. She was fast.

"Alice," she said.

I stared at her with unhidden confusion over how she known I was going to ask her name. Could she read minds too?

"No," she giggled. "I can see things; I can see things before they happen. I knew you were going to try and read our minds, but I wanted to break the news to you myself; I asked them to keep the secret for just an hour or so."

"Why an hour?" I didn't trust her. I didn't know how she had earned my family's trust, but it was my responsibility to check if she was safe. I would check the other new visitor later.

She shrugged. "You were a little upset—and Rosalie begged me to give her time to enjoy the moment. You are so rarely surprised." She giggled. "I'm never surprised too. We have a lot in common, Edward."

"You can see things," I repeated, "things that haven't happened yet."

She smirked. "Read my mind, Eddie," she told me. "I'm not lying. I have proof in what little memories I have."

That triggered her thoughts: the concept of memory. She couldn't remember who she was before she became a vampire. She had tracked her partner—the voice upstairs—Jasper—through little peeks into the future. The shade of her eyes told me she was just like we were; she was a "vegetarian" too. Her partner was also. She has tracked us down…

…_Because I saw you, long before I met you; I saw that Jasper and I were supposed to belong with you, with your family…_

…and she had taught her partner—Jasper—to not hunt humans as well. He was having difficulty, but…

_But what can you really expect from him? He's already trying his very best. He has a complicated background._

She quickly went over what she knew of his background. Her memories took my through her visions—which was the strangest experience. It was hard to decipher her sight. It was like watching life through a fish bowl at first. Then the colors blurred, unfocused, and then the scene rewound and replayed at lightning speed, the details etching into my mind as the focus became clearer. There were so many things to see. It was hard to understand. By the fifth or sixth vision she showed me, I could follow it. I had the same understanding of Jasper's past as she did; I knew who he was as much as she did—in theory, of course. I still hadn't met him and didn't have the same emotional connection. I felt pity for him though. I could not even begin to imagine what I would have turned out to be if Carlisle had not been the one to change me. What could I have been were I in Jasper's place? I don't know if I would have escaped Maria's clutch.

Then she explained her trip over here with her thoughts. I laughed when she bragged about how she learned to fight, laughed at her explanation of how Rosalie had taken joy in not-so-delicately removing my journals, music sheets, clothes, and everything else from my—er, Alice's—room. Alice explained how easily she had won over their permission to stay.

_I wasn't surprised of course; I had seen it in already_…

She felt so happy with being welcomed. She had seen it, but she hadn't felt the warmth or joy of it. In her visions, it was just the sight; it wasn't the feeling of being there in that moment. The emotions that came to her came from seeing what was coming, anticipating it, and the actual moments were her mind stayed in the present, that meant the most to her.

_And so we're here_…she finished. _Sorry we stole your room. It has the best view_.

I smiled. It was hard not to. After seeing life through her eyes—seeing her travels as well as seeing the details of even my own life displayed through her sight—it was hard not to have an understanding with her. Even harder not to fall into was her happiness and strange ability to make the room come alive with excitement—like every second was not time wasted and past, but another second to make the world hers and every moment in it was precious and wonderful.

_Do you hate me_?

I chuckled. "You tell me. Or haven't you seen this part yet?"

She grinned. "I love you too."

"Let's be friends first," I joked.

She giggled sweetly, softly. It was very difficult not to love her. There was a pull to her—like she had her own gravity and people were pulled into it like stray satellites. That had happened with my family. I could tell from their expressions in Alice's memory.

The problem was that I was more than a stray satellite. I was bits and pieces. Parts of me felt her pull. Parts of me were very welcomed by her presence. A part of me—though I didn't know it for a long time—never drew into her orbit. That side of me was dormant for many years to come—I only recently discovered it even existed.

There's a knock at the door. I lift my head.

"Edward?"

I smile. It's Bella.

"What are you doing? Alice said you were up her, reminiscing," Bella says.

I step close the cover to my journal. Bella tries to take a peek. When I don't allow her to, she pouts.

"I can't read your mind; you can't read mine," I tell her.

She sighs. "It seems fair," she admits. "Is that really what all these are about?" She points to the many journals I've kept over my century of life. "You keep a diary?"

I laugh. I'd never called it _that_.

"I think it's time I keep my promise," I say.

She rolls her eyes. "Edward, you don't have to involve me in the annual Cullen lottery winning night, you know," she retorts. "And why do you still have Alice winning the lottery for you? Isn't it more exciting to take a chance and tape her mouth shut? Or do you need to buy another super, duper fast car that has a name and brand I'll never memorize?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Bella." I cup her chin and kiss her lips. She blushes; she's beautiful. "We donate it to charity."

_Hurry up, up there_! Alice orders. She is impatient. She likes to show off in front of Bella.

I chuckle.

"What?" Bella asks.

"Alice beckons," I sigh. "But I'm not sure if I want to share you."

Bella blushes deeper. Her scent thickens as her blood reaches under her skin, trying to cool against her cheeks. I can feel the warmth when my fingers stroke her cheek.

"I kind of agree," she says softly, settling the questioning in my mind. Who needs annual traditions anyway? I lean in to kiss her lips again…

"Edward! Do I have to drag you down there!" Alice snaps. She's at the door.

"Go away, Alice," I moan against Bella's lips as Alice pulls back on the collar of my shirt.

"No! This is a very important day for me and I won't have Bella's hormones and your renewed sense of life ruin it for me," she snarled.

"What's so special about today?" Bella questions. "Or do you mean the lottery thing?"

Alice giggles. "I'm glad you asked. It's the anniversary of the first day I came here."

Bella's eyes widened. "You have a good memory. What year was that?"

"Relax, Bella, I'm a vampire, remember? We all have good memories. It really helps in Biology—okay, it helped when I took it the first time—oh, and they've updated the program a few times…" Alice trailed off. "It was 1950."

"That's sooner than I thought," Bella admits. "Sometimes I forget that you and Jasper joined later."

"We were around before that though. We were just fashionably late. Although, _you_, Bella are going to be unfashionably late if Edward continues to delay…"

I give her a sour look.

_Just kidding, Edward_, she assures me. I don't believe her. I can see her and Bella exchanging looks. It's something Bella wants. Why of all the gifts I could give her she asks for a curse?

"So let's go down," Bella suggests, breaking the silence.

"Good thinking." Alice spins on her heels and moves at a pace that allows her to disappear—as far as Bella's eyes can see.

"One day I'm going to ask her what it was like," Bella says aloud. "I can't imagine her showing up at your doorstep, telling you she saw her in your future…okay, yeah, I can. Never mind. That's definitely an Alice thing to do. It's only Jasper I can see having a problem with that."

I laugh. "He was against knocking on the door without a plan."

"Look how well I know the mysterious vampire vegetarians," Bella beams. "I must be one of you." She gives me a sideways glance that tells me she wants to discuss the unfortunate topic Alice let slip.

"The answer is—and always will be—no," I tell her.

"We'll talk," she promises. "Right now, Alice is about to win the lottery so Darfur will receive some seriously good funding."

I sigh. There would be no reasoning with her, would there?

* * *

_Alice_

It went swimmingly. Edward accepted being homeless without a glitch. He had shown some signs of hostility—but that was because I had been a stranger to him at the time. He knew me now. I could see our relationship would continue to build for a long time. The only problem was that he seemed to be a little lost. I hadn't seen enough of that side through my sight. I had seen some signs that he was separate from the other members of his family, but I had attributed it to having special abilities and the apparently typical dissatisfaction of being a vampire, not human. Personally, I didn't have that problem. Then again, there was no human Alice; there was only the vampire.

I thought having a family would fix that hole in me—a hole I had been ignoring for too long. I thought Jasper had completed me—but there seemed something too large and too empty for either of them to fill. There was still so much room inside me. It was a gaping wound that grew each day. It was infected with longing and loneliness. It ached when I thought about it; it bled out whenever I felt happy—which was a lot. It was harder to be happy though when the hole was manifesting into a desire to run far, far away. I wanted to hide, to dig myself a grave in the ground, bury myself, and hope to disappear into the quiet. Maybe then the noise in my head—the gaping hole—wouldn't be chattering to me constantly about what I was missing: a past.

Each day I spent with them—my family—I learned about their pasts, catching up. Each time Jasper revealed something new to me, I yearned to tell him something of me. All I could tell him was about upcoming things—things that didn't apply yet. It wasn't helpful.

Was that why I had such a power? If the world was a balance of good and evil, why not give something to me in return for what I had lost? Carlisle had successfully converted me to the belief that I had a soul; I had no doubt. So was it not reasonable to believe that whatever trickster had stolen my past identity had been out-smartened by one of God's angels? I liked to believe that some kind angel found me in the dark, alone, and frightened as devils ripped my mind from me, and gave me the gift of sight. I could imagine that angel's gentle hand, gracing me with knowledge of the future—how wonderful the future could be, and a chance at changing to awful things to come—so that I could find myself once I woke up from the change. Carlisle had to be right; God had not abandoned those with fangs anymore than those without. The butterfly and moth were both part of the blue planet.

It had been about two weeks living with my family. I had visited Carlisle at work once to explain to him what was going to go wrong with a surgical procedure later in the day that he could easily fix with prior knowledge. He had introduced me as Esme's cousin who was planning on moving in with him and his family until Jasper—my apparent husband—found a place of our own. I rather liked the sound of Jasper being my husband and had been thinking about the idea ever since. I didn't want to mention it to him until I could patch up my internal hole. I had also gone shopping with Rosalie. She was fun to shop with. As I had previously told her, she had excellent taste. Jasper had kept his promise to be Emmett's sparring partner. Jasper had won easily the first few rounds. Then—after Rosalie's worry and telling them to stop, and then going inside because she didn't want to watch anymore—Emmett swallowed his pride and begged to be taught how Jasper did it. After several more rounds and several more little lessons, Emmett wasn't so easily pummeled. Still, Jasper was the obvious victor. But, I couldn't help challenging Emmett. They say don't kick a dog while it's down, but I needed an opportunity to brag—and forget about the moaning voices that were echoing from inside the hole. Emmett laughed at my challenge. He anticipated a quick win. I defeated Emmett more easily than Jasper had. Emmett was astonished.

It was at the two week point that my mind went into black again. My mind turned back on when I heard Jasper asking me what ballerina figurine I had been talking about. I dodged the subject the easiest way I knew how; I lied. I told him I had seen it in town when I had been out with Rosalie. It was beautiful and tiny and porcelain…and…and there was something about it that made me want to cry and smile at the same time.

"It looked just like me," I finished. Somehow, it seemed to be the truth, even though I couldn't have possibly seen a tiny porcelain figurine before in my life…could I have?

I had another blackout around the end of week three. Jasper was growing more concerned. He said I had been mumbling about the vampire in the office. I told him I was talking about a murder mystery book I had seen in town when I was out with Esme.

Three days later, I was with Rosalie in the garage. She was complaining about Emmett planning how to defeat Jasper rather than wanting to have sex with her when I zoned out. I came back in with Rosalie's hands on my shoulders, calling my name worriedly.

"What?" I asked.

"What do you mean 'what'? You weren't responding—and you weren't acting like you normally do when you zone out and see the future."

I couldn't lie to her. All the guilt from lying to Jasper piled on me. My face felt too cold and unmovable to force a happy expression.

"Rose…I…" I shook my head. "I'm afraid Emmett will be discussing battle strategies with you in bed for a while yet," I joked. "Sorry. I just had a strangely normal vision, and I was thinking about it, and not really listening."

"Uh, 'normal' in what way…? What's normal about seeing the future?" Rosalie laughed. The worried expression was still—subtly—there, and her eyes were sad. She knew I didn't trust her with the truth.

"I saw me walking out of here with nor solution to your problem," I sighed smilingly. I hopped out the passenger seat of her car and slipped inside. She didn't follow. I decided to sneak out the back and disappear for a while. I needed to calm myself down or I wouldn't be able to face any of them—not even Jasper.

Four weeks—a whole month—of being with them, and I had another blackout. I had been with Esme. She was having trouble deciding where we were going to live next. People were starting to talk—according to Edward—about how strange it was to have such a large family—and so many couples living in the same household? They were all inter-related. How old-fashioned. Why were Dr. Cullen's brother and his brother's wife still living with them? Hadn't that young man found a suitable job yet? And what about Mrs. Esme Cullen's son—Edward, was it?—did he look any older? Why didn't a nice looking you man like that mingle with the rest of the kids his age…or were his age…? He didn't seem to look any older. Was it some Cullen gene? They were all so pale; strange eyes; solitary too.

Esme was staring at me with sad, sad eyes. I wouldn't have noticed if I was blacking out were I alone—so maybe I blacked out more often than I thought, when no one was noticing—because there was no passage of time spent in darkness. There was only one second listening and the next second someone calling my name or shaking me. I noticed that time because of Esme—my mother's concern and heartbreak for me. She, like Rosalie, could see I wasn't going to admit the truth.

"Did I say something odd?" I whispered.

"No," she said. "But I can tell something is happening to you. I've learned to recognize invisible tears."

I dropped my gaze. "It's that obvious, huh?" I laughed humorlessly. "I wish it'd go away. I don't know what's happening."

"It's because you're unhappy," she revealed.

"But I am happy," I assured her quickly. "I have Jasper and my family. I have a sweet mother"—I grabbed her hand and smiled at her—"and Carlisle…and Rose…and even Emmett is good for a laugh and comfortable to be around…I have never known such great happiness as this."

"Exactly," Esme said quietly. "That's my point. That expression on your face when you said 'never known' is uncertainty. You're not sure if you've ever been happy before in your life. If you listen to Rosalie, you couldn't have had a happy life to end up as we are. She believes you only get to this point after a great tragedy. But you don't know that. You want to though. And I don't blame you."

I couldn't smile. Was this what a mother was—someone who could see deep within you, regardless of what you tried to hide—and no matter how good you were at it? Was a mother a breathing lie-detector and a living translator of all the mind's secrets?

"You should find out," Esme suggested. "It will help. You'll find us again. You have the means to, after all. You only have to want to search for us and we'll be waiting."

I smiled. "I love you, Esme. So—_so_ much…" I hugged her tightly and she rubbed my back soothingly. I wished it was enough to have here touch me and make it all okay. But she was right. I needed to find something to prove that there wasn't something great leftover from whatever life I had lived. The hole inside me swelled and numbed at the thought of searching. Other parts of me pained. How could I leave my happiness to find my past?

"Jasper and Emmett are only an hour away," she reminded me.

I nodded. "Thanks." I took off at quickly, breaking a few speed limits, to where Emmett and Jasper were. Emmett was on the ground grumbling after another loss. Jasper turned his head—and his smile faded as he saw me.

"Alice, what's wrong?" He rushed to my side.

"I'm sorry to ruin your fun, but I need to talk to you"—I shot Emmett and apologetic look—"alone."

"That's okay," Emmett said reluctantly. "I'm sure Rose needs me for something. She's mad at me again."

"She'll never admit, but you know she loves—"

"Roses, I know," he laughed softly, his eyes warming. "Because I'm goofy enough to buy flowers that match her name."

"You're sweet," I laughed. "Now…I wonder if there's a flower called 'Alice,' huh, Jasper."

He didn't find the joke funny. He could see that I had something important to say. He wanted me to cut to the chase.

Emmett excused himself. I waited until he was out of hearing range.

"I think I'm leaving," I said. It felt strange to say it aloud—more real.

"Is this about…were you seeing yourself leaving and that's why you pretended to…is it because you're leaving without me?" he asked. I could see the upcoming loneliness in his eyes, but I couldn't see him staying with the Cullens without me—I couldn't even see myself leaving yet. Was I unable to leave?

"I can't see myself leaving—with or without you," I answered. "I love all of you too much. But I just spoke to Esme—and she explained something to me that even I couldn't see clearly."

He was puzzled; it was clear on his face.

"I don't have a past, Jasper," I murmured. "I think I need to know that for sure—that there isn't somewhere over the rainbow just over my shoulder. If there's nothing of my past—and nothing good—then I can come back and just be content with the happiness I have here, with you, with the Cullens. Until then though—there's…there's something inside me that won't let me be happy until I know for certain."

Jasper held my face in his hands and stared into my eyes, searching for reasons behind my sudden words. He seemed to be hoping I was just kidding.

"You're sad," he said.

"I know." I wished for once that he couldn't feel what I was feeling; it made it hurt more; it made it harder to say goodbye. I still couldn't see myself leaving.

"You're in pain," he added. His face crumpled. "Alice, please. Why didn't you talk to me? I could feel it—your pain—ever since that first…blackout."

"I'm sorry," I laughed humorlessly. "I guess it's hard protecting you from complicated emotions; you feel it anyway."

"You hide well," he admitted sadly. "I didn't know it was that bad until now."

I shrugged. "It isn't quite so bad."

"Bad enough that you want to leave," he argued.

"Jasper, 'want to' and 'need to' are completely different things," I disagreed. "And maybe it is bad, but there's nothing you can do to stop me."

I could see it then. I could see myself, leaving him behind. I choked as the feeling that could only be tears overwhelmed me.

"Alice, what's wrong?" He could hear my breath change and my chest freeze as I tried to stop the feeling. He could feel it though; I couldn't stop it. "Alice, if it hurts you to leave, then you…please, don't go."

I placed my hands over his. "I need to." I grabbed his hands and removed them from my face. "Stay here with them. I might be back in five minutes, you know. It's possible that just leaving might trigger a vision that answers all my questions."

"It's also possible that you will be gone for centuries," Jasper snapped. "Alice, how can you expect me to stay here without you?"

"You are perfectly at ease, Jasper Whitlock, and you know it," I replied. "Don't pretend that you don't belong with them too."

"Yes—'too'—that means you belong here," he emphasized. "We can both leave and we can both come back. Why not go together? Alice, I'm not going to ask you not to leave if you need this. I beg you not to leave without my by your side."

"I can't interrupt your happiness to, Jasper," I cried.

"Please, do," he said, before pressing his lips to mine and kissing me forcefully. I couldn't ignore the happiness that rose inside me—which in turn he felt, and his kiss deepened, which made me even happier and more melt-y inside, which he felt, and…

I stepped away from him reluctantly knowing that getting naked in the field with him could not be considered firmly supporting my position. I needed to concentrate on what I needed; I needed to run away for just a brief moment in time to find myself.

The hurt in his eyes was obvious. I took his hand and kissed it. I held it tightly and closed my eyes.

"I'll be back," I promised.

"I'll be waiting," he whispered hoarsely.

"Let's make a deal, if I'm gone for more than five minutes, then I will come back before you meet with J. Jenks, whether I find what I need or not?"

He sighed angrily and closed his eyes. "Alice."

"What! I made you a good deal. Take it or leave it, mister."

"I was planning on meeting with him soon—a week, maybe two," he said.

"I know. I saw it. You're a genius, by the way. I do not know how you do it."

"I'm not going to put a time limit on you," he explained. His brow furrowed and he was frowning. I could tell he was a little happier though. He was frustrated; but happy. He liked the idea of not being separated for so long. "If you need to search, then take your time."

"No, I like this idea better than aimlessly searching," I told him. "I don't want to be gone for too long. So you tell Carlisle and our family that I will be back within two weeks. Send them my love." I kissed him deeply once—making sure only once, because he had an effect on me that brought me deeper in than I really needed in that moment. (Wanted was, again, another matter entirely.)

"Wish me luck!" I winked.

He did his best to smile encouragingly.

"Oh, and before I forget," I laughed—really laughed, and meant it. "Carlisle made me think of something. Rosalie and Emmett are married too after all…I say we discuss that when I get back."

"Marriage?" he puzzled.

"Marriage," I repeated. "Think on it." I kissed him one more time—lightly, as he was too cute when he was confused.

And then took off. I had seen myself leaving for farther south. That's where I would head. Perhaps the southern states were where all the answers were. I had woken up there. I had searched for Jasper there for years. Was it possible that I was near the root of the problem all along?

It was night by the time I reached Mississippi (state, obviously, not the river). I entered busy Biloxi and wandered the dark streets aimlessly. There was an eerie feeling, being there. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

I had a premonition of finding a theatre—I wasn't sure, day or night, what time it was, since I was inside—and there were dancers on the stage. I collapsed to my knees and gasped. A couple walking by me gave expression of surprise and asked if I was okay. I assured them I was fine—just a medical condition of sudden ankle spasms—and nursed my ankle as I stood. I was fine, really. I smiled brilliantly at them, and they decided it was better to get home in a hurry, before it got too dark.

I rushed to the theatre. It was closed and empty at night. That didn't stop me from breaking in. I explored without worry of getting caught or getting lost. The frightening thing was that the layout was fixed in my head. I knew exactly where I was going. I found backstage no problem. There were costumes, tutus, and various empty racks. I touched my hand to one of the mirrors in the dressing room. My short, short hair didn't fit with the room—with the face I saw in the reflection. The pale, yellow-eyed vampire was gone; there was only a stranger's face; there was only a child with rosy cheeks; long, beautiful, dark hair; warm, fleshy skin…and everything I dreamed I was. But that wasn't real.

I turned away from the mirror. The room was still used. It had all the signs of life—aside from the darkness. It was run by electric lights, but I didn't want to alert anyone to my presence there. I found a candle but no matches. I snapped my fingers over the wick with enough friction to create a spark. I blew lightly and the spark grew. The candle burned. The warmth lit the room and I could make out the details of the costumes—the pinks, the blues, the whites, and other soft tones—and the light yellow color of the walls. I made my way out of the dressing room and entered backstage again. The dressing room wasn't the answer. I went out onto the stage. My knees felt weak again.

No, that isn't possible, Alice. You're a vampire! Vampires don't get weak in the knees. Okay, maybe figuratively…Jasper made me feel that way when he acted so sensitive and was so willing to give me time to find whatever was calling out to me.

The theatre looked huge from the stage. The empty seats—the ones that weren't too dark for me to see—were numerous. I tried to imagine faces in those seats, bodies sitting still, watchers for a lovely performance. Would it be something original with poetic, classical music from the orchestra? Or would it be _Swan Lake_? That was probably beautiful. Or maybe the most seats were filled to watch _The Nutcracker_ at Christmastime? I closed my eyes and placed the ballerinas on the stage. I could see the Sugarplum Fairy. I could see her waltz…her fairies surrounding her…taking over the stage…I raised my heels from the floor. I walked forward swiftly and placed the candle on the stage. I stepped back and opened my eyes.

What was I doing? I didn't know anything about this sort of thing. Esme had mentioned a few things we could do together—inviting Rosalie along, of course—if we moved to a big city, and seeing a ballet was one of them. That's all I knew. I didn't know anything more than that.

I stared out at the seats again. I felt nervous and jittery…and _excited_. I wasn't even thinking of Jasper and I was definitely weak in the knees. I closed my eyes and shook my head. I had to clear my head.

No, I should leave the theatre.

Something stopped me though. The steps made sense. The music…

"Armand's duet," I breathed. I closed my eyes again and raised my hands to third position and bent out my toes for second position.

Adagio…moving slowly, gracefully…must be fluid.

The music was soft. The audience was quiet. But it was just the beginning.

Air, en l'…the working leg, after being opening it fourth position à terre, raised to a horizontal position with the toe on the level of the hip…

"Claudette…Stephen…" I could remember names. I still couldn't remember faces. The dance continued.

Arrière, en…the music stopped. I had been moving backwards, away from the audience, and the sound had stopped. I had to move closer—so I did. I twirled, not bothering to use to usual technique of not getting dizzy. I didn't need to stare at a single spot. My head had been spinning before I started the dance.

"Yvette…Carla Arietta…"

Claudette Winchester never liked how many times we had to twirl. She was amazing at everything but that. Her stomach always became very ill after such a continuous movement. But it was also worth mentioning that her delicate body could hardly stand the motion of an automobile either…

I realized that I wasn't doing everything quite right. I wasn't on my tiptoes. I didn't have point shoes but…this dance was for point. I raised myself onto my toes, ignoring that my instincts were telling me it was impossible and the ballet master would yell at me for an hour if I tried to…I ignored it. I imagined Armand as my cavalier—as I always secretly dreamed he would be—as I stole the role of his preferred partner.

Carla's last name wasn't really Arietta. She was just a big fan of Ariettas—and she was wonderful at singing them too. Her beautiful, light, high soprano voice entertained when we had hours to wait backstage as the dance mistress ordered Armand and his partner—what was her name again?—around, er...helped them reach performance level.

Ballon…I bound from the floor, pausing lightly in the air before falling lightly, gracefully to the floor. I imagined Armand chasing around me, meeting me as I bounded toward the up-centre of the stage.

Arabesque…just my profile, leg extended upward at a right angle, with my supporting leg in demi-plié, arms extended high to show the longest possible line from the toes to the fingertips. My shoulders were perfectly square. I stretched my arm out and imagined Armand's hand meeting mine to twist my body around delicately, and I would have moved my leg around so…

I heard clapping. My eyes shot open. The dance wasn't over and yet someone was clapping. That's wasn't possible. I was imagining it all. My imagination wouldn't be mean enough to cut my moment of glory short.

I stared in panic at the audience. I saw movement in the first row. I jumped back—but my body didn't react as it should have. I was a vampire; why didn't I crouch and get ready to spring? Why did my feet stumble gracefully backward and my hand come up to cover my neck? At least my expression was right. I glared as someone leaped onto the stage.

He wore torn, aged clothes. He was definitely a vampire—but not my kind of vampire. His eyes were almost black with hunger, but I could see that it was only a dark red variety. He was tall—taller than Jasper even. He was smiling. I thought cruelly at first, but I deciphered the expression shortly. He was smiling softly, pushing through real pain and sorrow. I allowed my defenses to go down—more so than they already were—because I could see a kindred spirit. He seemed the kind of man to be in search of something lost.

"That was exquisite," he complimented. His voice was rough, but beautiful. It sounded familiar.

"Thank you." I stationed myself with the candle at my feet when he stepped closer. I wanted a clearer look at his face. There was something familiar about it. I lifted the candle.

"It has been a long time, Alice," Charoum said.

I dropped the candle. My body shook. The stage caught fire. Charoum moved quickly to put it out with his already shambled jacket. My hands had flown to my mouth and were working to cover to sobs and the gasps for air. I fought against the tears—oh, the tears! I could remember the human emotions behind tears, and what it felt like to have them drip down my cheek after building in my eyes. I could remember how they blinded my sight before creating rivers—rivers that my mother would wipe or my father would kiss away. I remembered playing with Cynthia in the yard. I remembered her telling me her secrets—about her imaginary friend, about the dark skinned boy who lived in the corner house that everyone hated and everyone called funny names but she swore she was going to marry one day—and how she had begged to sleep in my bad after her nightmares. I remembered Caspar and his father's plans. I remembered my father's bloody death. I remembered my mother's betrayal and distrust in my visions. I remembered that dastard Caspar who pretended to love me—and maybe did love me—but didn't do a darned thing to save me from the asylum. I could still picture the smug, Bible-thumping expression on the face of my mother's new husband. I could feel the horrid burning and torture of the change.

"I did not mean to startle you," he apologized. "Forgive me."

I took my hands away from my mouth. I started bouncing uncontrollably.

"Holy! Holy! Holy—crap—crap!" I chanted. I laughed like a madwoman and ran my hands over my head. "I'm Mary Alice Brandon! I _am_ Alice. That _is_ my name. I didn't just make it up. I—I danced _here_."—I twirled once about the stage fluidly—"I came from somewhere. I remember!"

Charoum looked at me nervously. "What do you mean you 'remember'?"

"I was born in Biloxi, Mississippi; my sister's name—my biological sister's name—is Cynthia; I was engaged to Caspar Parker," I recited. "My father died in the Great War; I was a ballerina; I went to an asylum and…and…and…!"

The pain started then. I clutched my head. It was splitting in two! The hole was filled—and it kept filling, so that it was overflowing. The pain of the change; the electro-machine-y-whatever thing was frying my brain; betrayal; the countless needles and drugs; Cynthia was ashamed of me; mother was ashamed of me; father died horribly!—the bombs; Jasper was killing people again—Jasper was killing again!

I jumped up, staggering as I ran. "I have to go to him!" I exclaimed.

I collapsed on the floor. I couldn't remember where he was. Had I left him alone? No, my mother and father were with him. My sister was with him…Cynthia? No, she had the name of a flower…flowers that my brother would get her because…I didn't have a brother. I had a sister…

What was my sister's name?

It was too much. Charoum was talking to me, but I couldn't make out the sound coming from his mouth. My head was shattering into a thousand pieces. I could see her face—blonde hair, the appearance of Aphrodite—but her name wasn't Cynthia. My mother was speaking kind words to me…she was sweet…she was everything I had never known…but she had betrayed me. My father was a doctor…but he died…but he came back to life after the Great War as a vampire. I had to get back before he met with J. Jenks. J. Jenks would help us. I have to leave with Jasper; I'll send Carlisle's friends from the Amazon to be sure though…

"Alice, what's wrong?" Was it Jasper or Charoum asking?

"I forgot who I was, when I changed," I explained. But changed into what? Those were the right words right? "I saw you, this theatre, and I remembered…" My body was aching to. It started in my chest—my heart—and pumped through my body, so that I twisted and writhed on the floor. "I…I…don't…know…why…it…hurts…I can't…keep it…together! It's too…MUCH!"

"Alice, I'm so sorry. I thought I could save you; I thought it would save you; but I failed you again."

"That's your own fault, Caspar!" I shouted, straightening up from the floor. "You shouldn't have had your father send me here!"

He looked at me oddly.

Oh, he wasn't Caspar. Caspar was probably much older anyway, so I wouldn't recognize him. Time had passed since I was last here.

"I'm sorry, my…head…isn't straight," I apologized. I put my arm on his shoulder and forced a smile—which came out like a grimace.

The wolf blurred my vision again—again. Prom, again; it never gets tiring. I do…

"_I do_…_for the rest of forever…"_

"Alice, Alice," he soothed, cupping my chin and putting his arm around me. "Forgive me for what I have done to you."

The circles under his eyes were dark. He was starving. But he would never drink my blood. We were friends even though he was a vampire and I was a…human; just a normal, human girl. I was like Isabella Swan. I was minding my own business and landing in the presence of a vampire.

The burning was spreading. I could feel it in my fingertips. My body shivered and twitched. I barely managed to keep my balance on my knees.

"How are you here?" I asked breathlessly. "James—I think was his name?—was after you. How did you escape from him?"

"He came back for you, Alice," he reminded me. 'Don't you remember?"

"No. I remember he killed…he killed…" I shook my head. "I don't want to remember anymore. It's too painful."

"Then forget," he suggested.

I laughed bitterly. "It doesn't…work that way, Charoum. There are two lives in my head—before the change…and after—and, right now, they're both fighting for room in my head. There's…too much for me…to _handle_."

His brow furrowed. "I don't understand. That isn't how it should work."

"It's because…I can't have a past," I cried, laughing sadly in between words. "I see the future; I can't see the past."

"Yes, you can," he insisted. "I can help you, Alice."

I shook my head. "No, you can't," I argued. "I'm having so much trouble right now just keep this moment straight. The past, the present, the future…it's all a blur right now."

"But my ability doesn't interfere with—"

"Ability—what…can you do?"

His hesitated. "Alice, do you think, if you lost your human past you would be unhappy?"

"I would be very happy," I cried. "I have a life. I came searching because I needed to…no, I wanted to. I wanted to know if I had a past. I don't need to remember being human to be happy." I just need Jasper. I need to get back to my family before I forgot them…

"Do you think you could…stabilize if you forgot your human past?" he asked.

"It worked the first time," I joked. A sharp pain passed through me and I screamed. "THE FIRE—THE FIRE—it burns, like, a lot! Holy—HOLY—Charoum—I—I think the MEM!—_memory_ of the change is—is a little tough to bear, eh? AH!"

"I can erase your past," he explained. "It's within my abilities. It's very hard to do but…I think that's what happened the first time. I think when I changed you I erased your memory. I was…I hoped I could erase your time in the asylum without. I was in a hurry…I wasn't thinking…I must have erased too much."

"Or just enough," I laughed. "OW, ow, ow ow…This hurts like hell. You know the song, 'Gives You Hell'?"

"No, but, Alice—"

"It's stuck in my head right now," I sighed.

"Do you want me to erase your memory?" Charoum offered.

I thought about it; the pain grew. I screamed again—and again. I stabbed my teeth into my lower lip and held my mouth closed. I stifled my throat by not breathing until I could get a grip on my vocal cords and my train of thought.

"WHY—why…did you…come…here?" I demanded. "WHY did you come HERE—here to come after all this time?"

Charoum sighed sadly. He hesitated again. "I escaped from him just recently," he answered quietly—over my screams. "Recently being a year ago. I came here and hoped that maybe you'd be waiting for me. You talked about this place a lot when I knew you. I hoped to see you dance here, like you wanted"—I screamed—"as you just did."

I breathed in deeply and closed my eyes. "Thank you."

"I think I fell in love you, Alice," he admitted. He held my hand then.

My eyes shot open. I didn't respond. The pain was still there, but I didn't want to scream or move. I wanted to stare into his dark eyes and see the man who had spent three decades battling to save my life—three decades wasted on a girl who was about to forget all about him…all in exchange for her own selfish wish for happiness.

"I don't want to forget you," I told him quietly—or else any louder and a scream would escape. "I need to forget you though. Remember that home we talked about—that you and I were going to find? I found it."

He smiled. His eyes were swimming with happiness. He was happy for me. "Then you need to go back to it. Alone."

"What do you mean?" I squawked. "You can erase me memory, and then you'll be here afterward to remind me that I know you and you can come back with…" I couldn't picture Jasper and Charoum meeting.

He shook his head and gently brushed my cheek with his hand. "You saw me and then _this_ started. I cannot risk that happening again. My ability rarely works twice on someone; never three. I am reaching just offering to take your memory from you now."

I screamed again. It was getting worse again. My back arched and I screamed so loud that my ears felt like they should be bleeding. I was probably more high-pitched than a dog whistle. I stopped only when I had run out of air; I didn't take another breath.

"Forgive me," he breathed. His finger touched my lower lip, which was trembling.

I nodded. He sighed and then, gently, touched his lips to mine. He kissed my forehead, then, took my hand to his lips and kissed the back of my hand.

I was going to forget everything again. But the hole was filled, right? It would stay that way—I hoped. Maybe I just needed closure—whether I remembered it later or not.

_Couru_…running; I had to run. James. _Run, Alice, run!_

"He's coming back, Charoum!" I screamed. "_He's coming to kill you_! He tracked you down. He's almost here! _He won't stop_ until you're dead _because you saved me from him_."

Panic struck his face. My wide open eyes watched as regret transformed his expression again.

"I didn't save you from him, Alice," he argued. "I didn't save you at all."

"You have to run!"

"But, first, you," he said. He stared into my eyes and I stared into his. "Goodbye, Alice."

I closed my eyes. I wave of cold shot through me, putting out the fires. There were icicles in my blood. My head wasn't shattering; I wasn't burning alive; there was no broken apart Brandon family; there was no theatre; there was no past.

"I'll take you out of here," someone whispered softly in my ear.

"Is that Jasper…?" I mumbled incoherently. No, that wasn't his voice. Was I dreaming? No…vampires couldn't sleep; I couldn't dream.

It was dark, but I felt something brilliant and warm alight beside me. It was fire, but it didn't hurt. It was dark everywhere, but the warming fire was spreading, growing; it was rising like the sun. I wasn't sure how it was possible, but my eyelids were too heavy to lift. My body was limp. I couldn't find the strength for my soul to pilot my body. I was a puppet without strings but I couldn't remember how to move without them. The fire—the rising sun—burned wonderfully against my eyelids. The warmth touched all my bare skin—my arms, my neck, and my face—and even through my dress. I wiggled my fingers. It was a survival instinct; my cold, immortal body was responding to the warmth. I could feel my limbs regain some strength.

I felt my body being set on the ground. I hadn't realized I was being carried—or had been carried. I was on the ground at that moment. The blaze had grown, but it wasn't close enough to harm me.

"Without you…without my Esmera…I am sorry, but I can't face a world like that for eternity," someone sighed despairingly. "Be happy."

I heard their footsteps move away from me. I wanted to call out to whoever it was talking to me, but my voice didn't work. I felt the weight of my body, the strength of my muscles, and found the connections of my brain to the rest of me. I flexed my hand, changed my expression, sat up straight, and opened my eyes. I shaded my hands over my eyes as I saw the fire in front of me.

There was a theatre in front of me. The theatre I had entered because I had seen it in my vision. It was on fire. The whole thing—huge, old, and beautiful—was burning down as ashes drifted into the blue-black, starlit sky. I wasn't sure how I had escaped, but I was sure glad that I did.

People were gathering. My eyes traced a vampire in the crowd. His hair was tied back into a ponytail. He looked—frankly—pissed off. He walked to the edge of the crowd and met up with a girl with bright hair that looked more wild and untamed than the theatre-fire. The male vampire stomped angrily. The female reached out to him, but he was too angry. He hit her hands away and continued walking until he was far enough out of human prying eyes to run at vampire speed. The female kept up with him well.

I didn't think he was the guy who had spoken to me. I hadn't seen his face—or hers, although her hair was enough to identify her by—but he didn't seem the type. The man who had spoken to me had been sad, not angry. I had a sad suspicion that the man who had spoken to me wasn't alive any longer.

The crowd talked worriedly and backed away from the fire. The fire department arrived. They set to work to save the theatre in vain. It would be impossible. The relic was lost; they would have to build something new. I hoped that nothing precious was lost within. Then again, most memories are held in the mind, not in old buildings. Still, something about the burning of the theatre made a smile creep onto my lips. I felt…free.

I spotted purple smoke rising from within the flames. Despite my freedom, I felt sorrow. I knew what purple smoke meant. Had someone inside known my answers? Had I spoken to them and forgotten? If that was the case, then fine. My only chance at finding my past had literally gone up in flame. I could go back to Jasper and fully know that I tried to find where I came from. I prayed for the poor soul who had saved my life and committed a sad suicide amongst the flames of the theatre.

Whatever I had found in the burning theatre had filled the hole. I had no more memory than I had when I left Jasper. But what did it matter to me what had come and gone? There was no past; there was only Alice—again—but there was a future; my future as Alice Cullen.

* * *

Sorry for the delay! Thanks patient readers! Especially thanks to ShinySewage!

I think there will be 15 or 16 chapters total...just a guesstimate.

REVIEW! (An order, not a request. Heh heh heh.)

P.S. This was written at 1:56 AM. I hope it isn't trash.


	14. Chapter 14: Bond

Ask Alice – the story of Mary Alice Brandon.

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**Just a tid-bit about the meaning behind the name of the character _Charoum Colopatiron_:**

Both his first name and last name belong to angels. Charoum is the Angel of Silence (to encourage good listeners) and Colopatiron is the Angel of Liberation (inspiring us to rely on our inner knowing). Okay, now that he is officially dead…you know why he was named what he was named. Tada!

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"Home is not where you live but where they understand you." – Christian Morgenstern

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**Chapter 14: Bond**

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_Jasper_

The tick of the clock was driving its way into my skull. It was above my head on the wall, as I had found it…undesirable to watch my time wasted as I sat in the office of J. Jenks, waiting with my fingers curled tight against the desire to kill the man across from me in the room who smelled something like red wine, freshly-cut maple wood, and tiger-lilies.

_Mother of God_, I swore in my head. _How long can he keep me waiting_?

It had been an hour and thirty-three minutes and I was still his office's waiting room, my nose burning with the scent of human—and a few overdoses of fanciful perfumes and mink-fur coats—and my eyes closed with concentration. I was tempted to barge into the door and use my powers to persuade him to meet with me immediately—but I didn't. I wanted to wait. I wanted to get accustomed to be surrounded my succulent human flesh and look the other way. I wanted to waste as much time as possible because Alice had still not appeared as she promised she would. I remembered very clearly that she had seen herself back before I met with J. Jenks. I hoped that her quest to find her past hadn't led her too far away from me that her vision had changed and she no longer wished to come back. I could understand if she found a life with her memories, somewhere she was accepted as she was, with people to love her, and no reason to return to babysit a murderer like me…

I bottled these doubts in my mind and locked them tight. Alice had promised; she had seen it; she wouldn't change her path. Maybe she meant she would be back home—home with the Cullens—with _our_ family—before I met with J. Jenks and she was at the house with Esme and Rosalie at that very moment. That wouldn't be so bad. I could imagine that she was there, just giving me another test alone around people before we met again. I could believe that. I hoped for that.

It had been a rather…_dull_ time without Alice. Week one flew by like it had wings of its own and was a tangible creature—as if only Alice's presence tied Time down to the ground and let it just pass in sequential order, in no hurry, with no worry of where it was going or when it would be released. Time was just better spent with Alice. Even my new family had noticed that.

At first I thought it would be impossible to get by without her. I had never experienced a happy moment before her—had never known what is was like to not be plagued with guilt or haunted by even the most fleeting or most devastating sorrow. She had left though to find her past and I couldn't deny her a chance to find her own happiness—since it was sadly happiness I could not provide her with. I had returned to the house—our home—thinking I would feel empty and that I would no longer belong to their coven. It was just the opposite. I found I fit just the same—or maybe better, if I was being honest with myself—because I had been relying on Alice to keep me bound to them previously, but I had received the chance—an unconscious gift from Alice—to fit with them on my own terms with no one holding my hand and walking me through the steps. Emmett didn't even notice the difference at first.

I had told everyone the news individually as I came across their paths. Esme was the first to know—as she had known before I had apparently—and she had no doubt in her mind that her youngest daughter would have a safe journey and a pleasant return. Carlisle registered some expression of surprise, but, he too, was satisfied that if her sight had predicted a return trip then she would come back and just in the time she was meant to—no sooner, no later. Rosalie was sad. She had finally received someone who loved shopping just as much as—_although_ I argued more than—she did. Esme wasn't as preoccupied with that frame of mind, as she was planning a move, so Rosalie went back to tuning her car—and later Carlisle's car when her emotions started emitting loneliness that she had no explanation for. Emmett continued to barrage me with what he considered lethal attacks—his emotions swelling with excitement, pride, and egotism—when I delivered a slow but efficient counter-attack that left him speechless. Emmett preoccupied much of my time. He was very helpful to me—a companion; a brother; in a time when I needed distraction; when my thoughts were too much for me.

To my surprise, Edward, too, became a brother to me in that time that Alice chose to leave. Edward showed me his collections of books—offhandedly, I should mention, as he seemed to try and downplay his pride. He was very proud of himself though. He was glad to be reading Carlisle's medical journals, slowly reaching toward finding a way to heal humans and understand them rather than hurting them. Edward explained to me the most (and least) lethal veins and other spots to draw blood from a human—so that if the thirst ever became too much there would be a last resort plan that would kill them fast so that they wouldn't be tortured with the pain. Edward also told me of his time alone, breaking away from Carlisle's mantra of _do not kill; preserve life, always, _and switching to the mantra of _only kill the bad guys_. It was an interesting thought…but it was as he said; the guilt was still there. Maybe an average vampire could get away from the guilt of only killing human murderers, but Edward and I couldn't. He could read their minds, every last tortured thought and even when he tried to block them out a flash of a face—someone kind the murderer knew; someone who would miss them—a pleading word; a final prayer; something that made even the most twisted minds seem like lost sheep amidst cities of wolves and a cold up-bringing. I knew it would have been the same for me to feel their terror; their guilt; their regret; their panic; their pleas; their last shred of hope fading as their minds went blank. I felt sick—not in the human way, but more the memory and the emotion behind sickness—just at the thought of experiencing a murderer's death. I could imagine the darkness in a human like that that I would never wish on any living organism.

I first told Carlisle and Esme of my plan to seek out Jonathan Jenks after Week One of Alice Watch. I had dealt with Jenks once in the past—when I had experimented in trying to involve myself in the mortal world once, before I met Alice—but I found that I wasn't ready to adopt a new identity and came out into the world of sun. I had since improved though, so I was hoping my idea would help. Jenks had started an interesting idea of creating new identities—just names on paper that the government would gleefully believe were true, provided with new social security numbers and various complicated things that I was only beginning to understand of a rapidly modernizing world—if given just enough money to continue his illegal business. The Cullens had been hopping from one place to another without suspicions so far, many thanks to a very observant Edward, but that wouldn't work for long with the modern world were security was becoming more and more popular. They wouldn't be able to sneak around much longer. Jonathan Jenks was one way for our immortal family to tread a little safer without risk of discovery.

I had dreaded making the trip to coast alone, so Edward had come with me. He was to keep an eye on me, to make sure I didn't slip up. He was staring out the window, observing the city. Just like Alice and I, the Cullens didn't venture into big cities often, so Edward was somewhat enjoying the culture shock. He wouldn't show it on his face, of course, but that was what made having the ability to feel other's emotions so handy.

Edward's head ever so slightly pivoted toward Jenks' office door. He was listening to what everyone else in the room couldn't hear. I was curious so I too concentrated my ears on the conversation behind the door. Edward had the advantage since he had heard their thoughts more than their words, but I could keep enough now that the two men inside were yelling.

"I'm tired of lying, Pop," a younger voice said. His voice cracked every so often, so I knew he had to be a teenager.

"This is my business and not yours," a man said, most likely J. Jenks. "I can run it how I like."

"I know you're forging identities for people, tricking the government for who knows what reasons," the teen accused. "Your business is criminal's work. How can you do that? What if the government found out? They'd do worse than an alien abduction!"

"There's your imagination running wild again," the man, Jenks, grumbled. "Aliens and monsters belong in movies and novels. If you want to be productive, give up your confound ideas about supernatural hogwash."

"My supernatural hogwash is a lot better than your illegal practices," the boy screeched back. He banged his hands flat on some sort of surface, a desk perhaps. "I'm not going into your dirty business, do yah hear me, Pop? I'm gunna be a novelist. I'm going to be big, like Charles Dickens or Arthur Miller."

"Arthur Miller? Who's he?"

"The one who hate, remember? He had an affair with Marilyn Monroe? They hauled him in recently for seeming anti-American," the boy reminded irritably.

"Why would you want to be like him?" Jenks' voice was gruff and caked with disappointment.

"He'll be famous one day, you'll see."

"Is being famous all that matters to you?" Jenks asked, hiding his anger from his tone, but I could feel it, even though I wasn't even in the same room.

The boy didn't answer.

"Take a good, long look at the world around you," Jenks instructed tonelessly. "America is the land of opportunity—yes, it is true—but there are plenty of monsters that can't be seen wandering around with horns and fangs, and there are plenty of damsels in distress who aren't beauty queens, and I can promise you that starvation doesn't mean that there's a famine. Someday you will need to open your eyes, son. This world is in plenty need of heroes, just not the kind wearing armor or flashing witty phrases."

He paused and sighed. His anger left him to be replaced with tiredness, sorrow, and worry. "The best way to best the beast," he finished, "is to take care of yourself first—find a career that pays the bills—and then reach out. Being a novelist can only take you so far. I want more for you. Your mother wanted more for you."

"Yeah, I'm sure she did," the boy grumbled. A flare of anger rose in him. "I'm not going into this business, whatever you say. I'm changing my name and you'll never hear from me again."

"You want to do some good? Go to college, become a lawyer."

"Whatever, Pop," the boy snapped.

"I'll expect you to be home before I am," Jenks ordered.

The boy spun out of the room angrily—although that was just a front, an act. I could feel pain and frustration building under his skin, twisting into a whirlwind of indecision, confusion. I could guess that it had something to do with this past-tense mother and probably a lot to do with his father's words.

Jenks came to his office door. He was a man of tall stature, unlike his son. He had thick brown hair and a large nose. His deep set, dark eyes would normally be confident, I was sure, but there was such sorrow inside him that I couldn't see it then. He had excellent posture. He could pretend to be nobility and no one would think him a liar. He wore a black suit and a silk red tie. He seemed to be into appearances, as he seemed as primped as a ballerina with not a single hair out of place. He even stood with his feet evenly apart. Once his son was out of his view, the sadness was pushed aside and his composure was pure again, calm and unshakable.

Jenks faced his secretary and quietly said "Send the next one in."

"Of course," the secretary sitting by the switch board said. Her auburn hair was pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a secret smile on her ruby red lips meant just for Jenks, but he didn't see. He retreated into his office without a glance out at the crowded room.

The secretary looked to me. "Mr. Jasper? You can walk right in."

"Thank you," I said, flashing a dazzling smile. She was stunned for a minute and a half, unable to move anything but her eyes, which followed me into the room when I went.

Edward shot me a look.

_I'm fine for this_, I promised him. He looked back out the window. I was certain he would be listening the whole time, tense and ready to act if anything went amiss.

"You can close the door behind you," Jenks said assertively.

I closed the door and hovered in front of the mahogany desk Jenks sat behind. His eyes were glued to a paper that held all the scheduled appointments for the day. I had reluctantly called in to schedule a time three days before and barely made it in, according to the secretary on the phone. Jenks was reading the list now, probably trying to figure out how much time his son had wasted out of his day. I could feel his frustration. He was most likely thinking about how late he would have to stay to catch up on his work.

The office was small, compared to the waiting room. There was a single window behind the desk with thick plaid curtains that were tightly closed. There was a fiberglass lamp on the left corner of the desk that lit the whole room, since the room was so tight. There were files and pens on the desk too. The walls were bare, aside from a well-shot photo of the aerial view of the Grand Canyon. The black and white photograph hag good contrast and composure, a mirror, in some ways, to the air Jenks gave off. In a different way, the photograph was wild and free like he probably could never be. I wasn't sure what the photograph meant to him, but as it was the only one in the room, it had to be important.

I was wrong. There was another photograph in the room. It was laying flat on the desk, knocked over, most likely. There were three figures in it. One was a younger looking Jenks, with softened features, rather than the hard-faced man before me. There was a beautiful woman with short black hair and with her hand—which clearly had a wedding band around the ring finger—was resting on the shoulder of a small child who resembled the frustrated teenager who had just stormed out of the office. The wife reminded me of Alice in a way. The woman seemed taller, older, but she had the same eye shape and the same sunshine quality that befitted a free spirit or a child. The woman was dressed with the fashion of a mother though. Despite her glowing smile, I could see the beginning of pain in her eyes. She looked pale and thin. I wondered if she had died from an illness.

"My sincere apologies for the wait," Jenks said, clearing his throat. I could feel the sorrow receding again. His eyes lifted from the paper, changing from soft to hard. "There was an emergency."

"I completely understand," I assured him. I had honestly been hoping to see Alice before I had to meet with J. Jenks, so the wait was called for. "Family first…and that's exactly why I'm here."

Jenks' brow furrowed slightly. If I hadn't felt his curiosity I might not have noticed. His emotions were displayed very subtly, as if he was hiding his feelings to seem stronger, more poised. It would certainly work on the average human, but anyone with good observation skills could see he wasn't the statue of stone he was trying to be.

"I'm here for papers," I explained. "The _illegal_ business your son was accusing you of."

"You could hear," Jenks said, surprised and embarrassed. "If only these walls were sound-proof."

"They are for the average Joe," I reassured him.

Jenks reappraised me then. His eyes measured me up as an opponent would. He realized that abnormal features I possessed were not merely just an oddity, but a sign of something. Jenks was smart. I felt his guard build up, his emotions locked under tightly, his calm coating over him like a shield.

"What papers do you have in mind, Mr. Jasper?" he questioned. "Birth certificates, death certificates, social security—?"

"Everything," I interrupted. "My family and I are starting new lives and we would appreciate a fresh start. I come to you humbly to request—with the reward of a large payment—for you to make that possible."

"Pretty words, Mr. Jasper, but you should know my prices are very high for what I do, and you don't seem like someone to possess the amount I would request."

I removed a roll of bills from my pocket and threw it on the dark, mahogany desk. Jenks cocked a brow and stifled his surprise.

"There's more of course," I promised.

"What kind of man carries ten thousand dollars in his pocket?"

"A man ready for change," I answered. "Will you help me or not?"

"I never say no to a man with money and a desperate situation." Jenks pulled some files out from his desk, grabbed a pen, tested it, and looked up at me. "Now what exactly do you need?"

"Four death certificates," I ordered.

"Names…?"

"Carlisle Cullen—"

"The doctor?" Jenks's face displayed actual shock. "You're part of his family?"

"Yes," I said. I was surprised as well. "Do you know him?"

"I am indebted to him," Jenks explained quietly. His eyebrows arched downward and a deep frown set his mouth. I could feel a ripple of sorrow and pain and regret. Jenks' eyes drifted to the photograph of his family. I could feel shadows of love, of happiness, of despair; and then they vanished. His shield slowly recovered from the shock. His eyes still showed gratefulness. "You can forget the large sum. Half price, for the good doctor."

"No, I insist full price."

"I insist half price. I need some way to repay Carlisle Cullen for how much hard work he put into…" His voice drifted off right before it would crack with hurt and sorrow. "I need to repay him."

"I'll be coming back to you," I told him. "More or less ten years from now. Remember my face and remember your debt to Carlisle. I will order the exact same thing. Do the same thing for me that you are doing now when I come back. Your debt will be squared then."

Jenks looked mystified—or more so he felt it, as his barrier of calmness soon transformed his features to the distilled hardness.

"Names?" Jenks asked again.

"Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie and Emmett Cullen," I listed.

Jenks paused. "I notice your name is not on this list," he observed.

I shrugged. "I died in the Civil War."

Jenks, flabbergasted, took on the appearance of a man unfazed. "I can easily complete those within a week. Now: the others?"

"Six birth certificates."

"Names," he said again, pen ready and eyes on the paper before him.

"Carlisle Platt, 1927, Anne Evenson, 1929, Rose Lillian King, 1935, Emmett McCarty, 1935, Jasper Whitlock, 1935, and Ashley Carry, 1937," I instructed. "You can fill in any remaining dates and names. The months don't matter and the middle names can be generic."

"You've done this before I see," Jenks muttered, filling in spaces on his files.

"A little birdie told me what you might ask for," I smirked. Edward had been very helpful on the venture, giving me the upper hand. He wasn't quite a bird, but he was a very silent and efficient observer.

"A marriage certificate too," I continued. I paused and waited for him to shuffle around a few files and bring new ones to the top. "Carlisle Platt married to Anne Evenson, 1950."

"Is that all?" Jenks lifted his eyes. He worked quickly and I could read the random middle names and dates; all looked well. Alice would appreciate the name Ashley. I was almost laughing at fact he had written Alice as her middle name. It was an interesting twist of fate. And I could picture Carlisle as a Peter…Jenks worked well. Then again, he had seen Carlisle's face before—I assumed—so he probably had that in mind when choosing the middle name.

_Is that all?_ "For names, yes," I answered. Carlisle, Edward, and I had discussed that Edward would remain with the same name and "inherit" the money left behind by the sudden death of his family. There would be a closed casket funeral and then Edward, torn by grief, would move away since the house would be too much a reminder of his lost family. Edward would meet us in New Orleans. Rosalie wanted a taste of living life in the big city, and Emmett had sides with her, and Esme thought it would be "splendid," so they had been the deciding factors. The humid summer meant nothing to them.

"Including social security cards," he started, "and various other complications of creating documents for six people, this will probably take three weeks."

I could feel an exuberant wave of emotion appear in the waiting room. A smile crept over my lips as I felt the very familiar presence I had awaited.

"I think two," I told him. I sent a wave of compliance at him, but his composure didn't lack for a second. He wouldn't be forced to do anything though.

"I apologize, but that's impossible with my schedule. Three weeks."

I was anxious to leave the office, to see the little ball of fire that was waited outside with Edward, so I finished my business with Jenks quickly. He wasn't easy to work with. I was used to influencing people very easily, but he would not be swayed. We finished within a ten minutes though. He assured me that I could come to his office in three weeks and the documents would be completed.

I shook Jenks' hand gave him the Cullens' phone number in case he needed to call, and exited the office. My eyes immediately located her. She was grinning and staring straight at me. I could feel her relief, her excitement, and how sorry she was (probably feeling guilty about leaving). I closed the distance between us quickly and kissed her forehead.

"Sorry I took so long," she sighed.

"You returned. That's all that matters."

Alice latched herself to my side and nodded at Edward. He turned away from the window, wearing the same indifferent expression, and followed us out of the office.

Edward drove us back to the house, becoming more talkative as Alice warmed her way into his heart. Even I found that I was talking more to Edward than I had in all the time we had spent together. Alice had a strange way of connecting people.

"So she didn't find out anything," Edward reported.

"Then why did you come back?" I asked confusedly.

"I got bored," she lied with a laugh.

"Alice feels she doesn't need to know her past," Edward answered for her. "She had an experience where she got knocked out, woke up, and didn't need to know anymore. She hasn't had a blackout since"—Edward stopped here for a second and threw Alice a disapproving stare—"you were having blackouts? Alice, why didn't you tell us?"

She shrugged. "The problem is solved now. No more need to worry. As Edward was saying—rudely translating my most personal thoughts"—she stuck her tongue out at him, and he laughed—"I have not had a blackout since. I am as good as new. I feel…complete again." She turned to me and smiled shyly. "You complete me."

Edward shook his head. "You're stealing movie lines," he accused.

"Why did you spoil my fun? _He_ hasn't seen the movie. I can pretend that I'm the genius who made it up."

"Is that why you're waiting for the opportunity to use 'I'll be back'?" Edward questioned. "I suppose you already used that one. Ah, you're trying to find an opportunity to say—"

Alice flung from the back seat and wrapped her hands around Edward's head to cover his mouth. "Shush! Stop mind-reading! I am the resident psychic, okay? Don't steal my thunder."

I laughed. Together they were a very ridiculous pair.

"Okay, you're not going to say anything more," Alice decided. She removed her hands slowly, not trusting her own vision, considering Edward had just the perfect way to see what she had seen.

"Alice, you were gone for three weeks," Edward commented.

"Yes."

"But you gave up searching after the first day," he continued. "What were you doing all that time?"

She conjured an innocent expression. "I got lost."

"Alice, you can see the future," I accused. "You would know beforehand which the right direction was. How could you get lost?"

She shrugged. "So where are we moving to? New Orleans! Wow. Why is my name Ashley? Aw, it was your mother's name, Jasper? That's so sweet. How come Edward gets the money? Oh, because he's the youngest of the Cullens and technically Jasper and I aren't among the living—yet. J. Jenks is going to change that though. Wow, it's going to be weird being alive again."

"Alice, could you not have a conversation with yourself?" Edward requested. "The other two living beings in the car are getting annoyed."

"But I know all the answers," she pouted.

I smirked. "You're omniscient now?"

"Close but no cigar," she sighed.

"Esme will be excited to see you, and Rosalie has been wandering bored for…" Edward stopped. "You were already back? But you haven't see Carlisle yet? Well at least that's _one_ more person who will be surprised to see you."

"Rosalie practically melted with joy," Alice giggled. "Esme is busy with organizing the move and Emmett refuses to go into the city again just so she can dress shop."

"I wasn't willing to volunteer," Edward added.

"I don't think she thought I would say yes. She didn't even ask me," I admitted.

Alice's eyes brightened. "That reminds me."

"You want me to come with you and Rosalie?" I guessed. The sudden surge of tenderness and excitement was hard to decipher. Edward looked at the road, hiding a smile, trying to give us privacy. I was even more confused.

"Remember what I said we would discuss when I got back?" she reminded me.

"Yes." It felt out of place to discuss such a matter so soon and in Edward's presence. Alice wasn't one for boundaries though.

"I was thinking after the move," she sputtered excitedly. "We can settle in, do the school thing—I wonder what high school is like?—and then after we graduate we can throw a small little ceremony. We'll need a good celebration around then. Don't ask. You'll see when the time comes. It'll be great."

Apparently, I had no say in the matter.

* * *

Okay, I hope everything seems accurate! The only thing I did change was Little Jenks' age. To those of you who didn't figure it out (sorry it wasn't crystal clear), J. Jenks' son is Jason Scott aka J aka J. Jenks (the guy from Breaking Dawn). He's supposed to be born in the 1950s according to the Lexicon, but the current timeline is approximately 1951, give or take a bit. I used a little artistic license. So sue me.

OKAY! REVIEW!

JANE AWSOME.


	15. Chapter 15: The Mystery

"The kindling light of Love in the soft  
Eye of a bride conquers, for  
Love sits on a throne, one of the great Powers;  
Nought else can prevail against  
Invincible Aphrodite."  
– _Antigone_, Sophocles

* * *

**Chapter 15: The Mystery**

* * *

_Edward_

"That poor boy," Mrs. Kinsley murmured to her neighbor. "All alone in the world…" _I wonder if he'll mind if I went over and talked to him…_ "What a terrible accident!"

"Poor boy," sighed Ms. Reese. _Poor, poor, boy; he probably has no family left. I never saw him once interact with anyone. He always acted so solitary. At least Rosalie…oh, Rosalie! At least she came out and waved at the neighbors…and Esme. She always had a smile_.

"What happened to those two that came a month ago?" Mrs. Kinsley pried. "Weren't they his family too? Maybe he isn't _so_ alone." _Maybe he'll get over their deaths more quickly with those two…and those two are together…that leaves Edward…_ "They'll be a comfort to him, I'm sure."

"How awful," Ms. Reese cried. She blew her nose in her kerchief and then stuffed it disgustedly into her pocket. _I do hope those two are close family…they might be a comfort to him. He's such a quiet young man; he needs someone to talk to_.

"I always get so depressed at funerals," Mr. Gregory sighed agitatedly. He was sitting with his arms crossed, his wife weeping, and three rows behind us.

Alice was having trouble looking grieved. Listening to her thoughts made it more difficult too.

_Jasper doesn't look any different than he normally does_, she was thinking. _He's not a very good actor. If he normally looks grieved he should be looking double-grieved. Or maybe he's trying to hide the fact that Ms. Pretty-Face-In-The-Back smells like an angel. I swear, if he doesn't eat her, _I will_. And no, Edward, I don't actually mean that. I'm just trying to entertain myself. It's strange grieving for someone who is actually alive and I am about to receive a call from in an hour._

I hid my smirk. If Alice only knew Jasper's thoughts she would think he was a good actor. He was pretending to be calm so not to upset her. Jasper hadn't stopped thinking about Samantha Rochester—Ms. Pretty-Face-In-The-Back—since she first sat down. Even I had to admit she did have a certain appeal.

_Lord, I have never asked anything of you—well, anything _this_ big—but please let Edward Cullen look at me. I will never ask anything of you again_.

I was surprised when I realized who was thinking. It was Ms. Samantha Rochester.

_This is the fourth time you've done this to me. Every time I start caring for someone you do something awful_.

Samantha was at the back. She was looking down. She was crying.

_First you kill Bobby and then you…_

Alice stiffened. Jasper was asking quietly what she was seeing.

_Why does this always happen to me? Why do the people around me get hurt? Bobby was my boyfriend for a day and a half! My day-and-a-half boyfriend was killed by a wild animal. Tyler smiled at me and then he was the victim of a hit and run. Johnny only walked me home and he…I know his parents said it was a wild animal but it's too big a coincidence…right? Wild animals running around killing people I care about…_

Alice looked at me with wide eyes. _That girl in the back!_

I had read her thoughts, had seen what she had seen. There was going to be a real corpse added to the funeral if I didn't act soon.

_I know this isn't good timing, but I swear if you don't give me some sort of sign that you're actually there, that you're _listening_ to me, I am going to Papa's drawer and using that damn—oh, sorry, I didn't mean to swear!—that darn gun and ending it._

I stood up, looking the picture of distraught, and headed for the back.

_Oh, that poor, poor, boy_, thought Ms. Reese. _He can't even sit through the ceremony!_

Mrs. Kinsley's eyes followed me. _I wonder if I followed him if he would think_…

Sometimes I wondered how some humans could have inappropriate thoughts at the most inappropriate times. Mrs. Kinsley was married with three children, in her mid-forties, and graying—although she died her hair bright red—and still she was picturing me in her bed. I wondered sometimes if she noticed how her husband had watched Rosalie out of the corner of his eye. They made a decent pair, the Kinsleys.

_Is he coming my way?_ Samantha's looked bug-eyed with anticipation. _Even if he did speak to me…nothing worse can happen to him now, right? He already lost his family. I know it's my fault! It must be my curse. But I haven't even showed any interest in him…somehow my back luck got him anyway._

The sermon continued, making some of the audience—mostly those who had been patients of Carlisle, his co-workers, and even some of the neighbors—fall into a drowsy state of half-awareness. Others fell asleep. Had the funeral been real I would be offended that they could be disrespectful to the lost souls. (Well, not lost. Lucky, as they could go to heaven, much unlike me and others of my kind…)

Samantha still had her eyes on me, but she looked less excited. _It must have to do with my thoughts. I thought about Bobby and Jonny…that must be how it works. Oh, but how can I stop thinking of Edward Cullen?_

I was near her row. I met her eyes and smiled at her, looking both friendly and distraught. Her eyes widened further—although I had thought it possible—and her mouth popped open.

_Oh my, G—God, forgive me._ _Edward just smiled at me! I must be dreaming…or at the beginning of a nightmare. I really hope the first option rings true!_

_Call Carlisle_, Alice ordered. _Tell him we'll be here the full week_.

I was a little confused. How had her vision changed our plans? I read over her mind. Ah, it was a little more complicated than a suicidal drama queen. There were undesirable forces involved.

* * *

_Jasper_

"So there's another vampire in town?" I asked.

Alice nodded. "And it's our job to solve this mystery."

"You think he has a fix on Samantha Rochester?" Edward was strangely grouchy. I couldn't put my finger on it. Maybe he felt guilty that he hadn't noticed the vampire in his time in the town and that guilt was being transformed into agitation. I had seen that happen commonly in humans.

"From what I saw, he thinks she is one hot tamale and he likes her blood," Alice explained. "He's a little selfish too. He's trying to keep her away from human males."

"You saw all this from one vision—and what do you mean by 'one hot tamale'?" I questioned. "I thought tamale was a Mexican dish?"

"I'm saying he thinks she's pretty, Jazz," Alice clarified. "And yes, I got this all from one vision. I am amazing! Oh, and we're going to confront him tonight and he is going to tell us this—not directly. He's going to tell Sam and we're going to show up. Our vampire friend is going to try and knock off Edward."

"Why?"

Edward shrugged. "He's jealous."

I smirked. "So does he have a name?"

"She didn't hear a name," Edward answered. He was still sour.

"I called Carlisle and explained the situation to him," Edward continued.

"And told us to handle it, blah, blah," Alice yawned. Edward frowned disapprovingly.

The ceremony had lasted a while. Well, to be honest, I had never been to a funeral, even as a human—that I could remember, as human memories grow dull over time—so I wasn't sure if it was long in comparison to some, but it felt long to me, especially when Alice became bored and begged to go outside. I insisted that we should stay and wait, so we did. Alice said afterwards that my decision was the better, as she had foreseen that Samantha and Edward wouldn't have had their discussion if we had come out to join them.

"Jasper wants to know what you and Sam talked about," Alice announced.

I furrowed my brow. "No I didn't."

She rolled her eyes. "You were going to ask in another minute and I wanted to speed things along."

"Why are you so impatient today?" I laughed.

"Because we finally have something useful to do," she cheered.

Edward frowned. "Protecting our secret is important, Alice," he lectured. "It is _useful_ to us to pretend to need consoling. If we vanished suddenly it would arouse suspicion."

"I know," she snapped. "I find it boring though."

Edward grinned. "Get used to it. We'll being doing this over and over and over again. Forever."

Alice's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Maybe…"

Edward watched her curiously. He looked like he was concentrating. He was becoming frustrated. Alice was grinning boastfully. She was locking him out of her mind again.

Alice had been practicing kicking Edward out of her thoughts for the last three weeks. She was getting very good at it. She hadn't had a real situation to need it yet, and doubted that she would ever need to, but she insisted on trying, just to agitate Edward.

"What are you thinking about?" I pried.

"The musical score of—AH!—Jasper!—you messed me up," she shrieked. Edward was laughing. Alice was scowling at me. "I was winning too!"

I shrugged. "Sorry," I smirked.

"You're on his side, aren't you?" she accused, narrowing her eyes at me. "You can sleep on the couch."

I rolled my eyes. It was an empty threat. I could already feel her mood lightening.

"Do we plan to do anything about this?" I asked to distract her.

"Our not-friend—the vampire nuisance?" she specified. "Absolutely—but first, we must lay out the perfect trap."

"And how are we going to do that?"

Alice cocked a brow and rubbed her chin dramatically. "Elementary, my dear Watson," she said.

Edward rolled his eyes. "Alright, Sherlock, we'll do it your way."

I was utterly confused. It was difficult to follow a conversation between a mind-reader and a psychic. They each knew what the other was going to say and I was left feeling deaf.

"Edward spoke to Samantha outside, while the ceremony was still going remember?" Alice reminded me.

"She's a nice girl," Edward complimented. "She tried to console me—"

"—and he pretended to be consoled," Alice continued. "Edward heard Mr. Stalker's thoughts. He was close. He'll be targeting Edward now."

"Or normally he would, were I human," Edward cut in. "He's thinking about abducting Samantha and—according to Alice's latest vision—he will tonight."

"We are going to stop him from hurting her," Alice finished. "Edward plus I equals 'we'. You"—she jabbed a finer into my chest—"are not coming."

I hid my surprise. I had seen that coming—and I wasn't psychic. "Why not?" I argued anyway. I knew exactly why, but I felt hurt at being mistrusted.

"Sammy smells tasty," Alice answered.

"Although Jasper has a good argument," Edward noted. Alice brow arched. She hadn't seen it coming.

"Alice," I said, putting my hands on her shoulder and smiling convincingly. "Can you leave me alone?"

Alice pouted. She knew I was right. I hadn't been alone around a human population since…well, it had been a while, and that had been before I was a member of the animal-only club. I still wasn't confident in my ability to control my cravings and Alice knew that.

"If you're dealing with this vampire, then you can't rush back to me if the worst-case scenario occurs," I added.

She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. "My whole vision just reshuffled," she groaned. "But I think it'll work. This guy isn't far past new. He's eyes aren't that bright red color"—she looked at Edward—"the color you have when you're a newborn, right? It's bright?"

Edward nodded. "I saw his eyes from your vision. He _should_ be simple to handle."

"Unless he's _special_," Alice admitted. "But he seemed normal."

I felt left-out again. _If only…I wish I could read minds_.

Edward's eyes shifted to me. He smirked. "No, you don't."

Alice was confused. "He doesn't….what…?"

"Nothing," I assured her. "Just a passing thought."

Alice shook her head. "Keeping secrets," she muttered.

I smiled apologetically. She smiled brightly up at me. Her mood was even brighter than her smile. Somehow, her effect on me hadn't lessened from the first day I had seen her. She was a radiant sun in my normally starless night.

"C'mon gang," Alice ordered. "We have a mystery to solve."

Edward rolled his eyes again.

"Let's climb in the _Mystery Machine_!" she giggled. "You can be Shaggy." She pointed at me. "You can be Velma." She winked at Edward.

"Why?" he asked. He wasn't really interested in the answer. He was simply appeasing her child-like amusement.

"Just because, my dear brother—and Rosalie is Daphne," she listed. Edward shook his head and laughed. "Emmett can be Scooby…and I guess…Carlisle is Fred."

"Where does that leave you and Esme?" I contributed. I had no idea what she was talking about, but as Edward seemed to be in on it—yet again—I didn't want to be left out.

"Esme and I are…the Hex Girls! Awesome," she giggled.

Edward shook his head. "You should pick a twosome," he criticized.

"Maybe one day there will be another addition to our family," Alice suggested. "She can join Esme and me."

Edward's expression hardened. He was lividly angry. "No."

Alice shrugged. "Just a passing thought," she assured him. "I'll try not to mention it again."

"Let's just save Samantha and then leave," he grumbled. His mood had darkened considerably. Something in him made the concept of vampire a vile and cruel fate. Personally, I had never been happier with what I was, but I could see some of the less desirable traits of being a blood-sucker.

* * *

_Edward_

The vampire was outside her room. He was opening her window as silently as he could. Every time it creaked he flinched back. Samantha never stirred.

If I had it my way, I would have taken him in that moment, but Alice said that the window of opportunity—without hurting the girl—hadn't approached yet.

Well, to be technical, she hadn't said anything. Her thoughts were firing rapidly though, and she had to mouth the words for me to even understand. In her head was a mix of random events—a storm with lightning spiking down from a gray sky, lighting a house on fire; Rosalie staring out at a sunny beach from under the shade of a thickly branched tree; Jasper in…a state I didn't desire to think about; a old theatre burning down with snow drifting down all around it; her and I playing chess with neither wining; Samantha waking from her bed, screaming, at the approach of the dangerous predator we now hunted.

_Just one more minute_, Alice assured me. _I think_.

Wonderful, Alice was in charge of timing our actions and she wasn't certain when to move. It would be more efficient—and safer for Samantha—if I removed the problematic vampire before he invaded her room. Alice was scheming though. She was blocking her plans from me—successfully this time—so I couldn't decipher her wily mind.

The vampire balancing on Samantha's windowsill had long dark hair, a wide frame, and burgundy-red eyes, which were centered on Samantha's sleeping form through the window pane—but flicked backward nervously, anticipating retaliation. He had seen me after all. Maybe he would be wise enough to give up his obsession. Maybe that was what Alice was waiting for.

The vampire was thinking of nothing but her face; listening to the sound of her breathing; imagining her smile; imaging touching her gentle skin; and his plan to go inside was a very far thought in the back of his mind.

The level of his infatuation with her confounded me. How could he think of her in that way—that looking at her was enough to fill his thoughts? I looked to Jasper and it was clear on his face that the vampire's feelings magnified his thoughts.

He cares for her, Jasper was thinking. Without question he's obsessed…but he cares for…he loves her.

I disagreed with Jasper's thought. It was impossible. This was a monster who wanted to steal her away from her life, had killed to keep her for himself. I could see those memories flashing to the front of his mind—questioning what she saw in each of the male humans (plus me) who she had tried to approach. Proof of his murderous instincts and proof of his obsession; there was no caring in his actions. Love wasn't within his reach. I didn't doubt Jasper's ability; he must have been reading it wrong though. How could a vampire love a human? Deeply, truly, and madly, this creature was only obsessed.

_I don't want to hurt you anymore, Sam_, the monster thought, _but I need to get you out of here. I need you…alone. I need to explain it all to you. I need you to see me as something else—human. I hope you understand_.

He edged close and drew the window open. He leaped onto the floor without a sound. Samantha didn't awaken. Looking like a burglar, he crouched closer to her, his eyes wandering her room. His thoughts were scattered—_Should I wake her?—She has a new poster on her wall—She's dreaming; that expression proves it—Maybe it's better if I take her while she's still dreaming—I don't want to risk that damn pretty boy interrupting my progress with her—Her parents are sound asleep—Why does she have a picture of that stupid human boy on her dresser!?—He's dead; she should have forgotten him!_—and he smashed the picture frame to the floor.

Samantha sat up with a start. Her eyes dashed to her dresser where the monster stood, snarling at the glass on the floor and the torn picture. Her eyes went wide and she grabbed her sheets tightly, her eyes flashed to the doorway—she was trying to figure out if she could make it to the door before the stranger got to her. She leaped off her bed and dashed for the door. As I predicted, he grabbed her, covering her mouth to prevent the sounds of screaming, and began cooing softly to her—as if anything he did after that moment would calm her down.

_Go, Edward,_ Alice ordered. _Now. Take it outside the house if you can; we don't need any more humans waking_.

I was through the window the moment she said go. The vampire's eyes shot to me and narrowed angrily. Samantha, shrieking into the palm of his hand, went silent with confusion and shock when she saw me.

_Edward!? How is he…?_ Her thoughts were streaked with so much panic that she couldn't form coherent thoughts, only flashes of what was happening to her. She could picture herself being raped by the stranger who had grabbed her. Her heart raced around the idea that I was her savior—or that I was in league with the monster she imagined to be her kidnapper. She imagined herself being stabbed to death with the glass from the broken picture frame. She was imagining alien abduction too.

"Go away," the vampire growled.

"Let her go," I ordered quietly, still forcefully.

"She's mine, not yours," he hissed. He tossed her onto her bed like he would toss a burden and then he dove for me. I ducked and then twisted his arm.

Strangely, he was stronger than me. He broke from my hold, took up Samantha in his non-broken arm, and then jumped out the window. I could hear his feet fall onto the grass below. I chased after him. He was running away while Samantha's terror continued, her mind spinning out of control with her imaginings of what was in store for her.

Edward, he's going t stop up ahead, Alice warned me.

Alice, faster than me, pulled back and looked at Jasper. She jerked her head forward, gesturing toward where the no-name monster was, directing Jasper to pull ahead.

Alice zipped in front of the kidnapper, halting him. He turned right to escape, and Jasper was there. I blocked him from behind. He faced me with a twisted expression; a snarl and a smile; and gripped whimpering Samantha tighter.

"You're a real coward aren't you?" he accused, staring at me. "You invite your little coven to gang up on me? Well you can't have her. She's mine."

"We want you to let her go," Alice told him calmly. "She doesn't belong in our world. She's an innocent human. Release her to us. We will take her back to her home safely. You will go on your merry way—far, far away from her. And you'll never come back. That's the deal. Take it."

The monster laughed nervously. "I'm taking her with me," he declared. "I'm not moving an inch without her. I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be," Alice sighed sadly. "Most of all him"—she jerked her head toward me—"because he firmly believes in the safety of innocent humans."

"And he's really pissed off," Jasper smirked. The monster looked back at me after shooting Jasper a look, which was worried more than threatening—although he had meant it to be.

"Samantha," the monster purred, stroking her hair lovingly—or possessively. "These people don't care for you like I do. I know I scared you, but I promise that I am only here to protect you. You don't want to go with them. Stay with me."

Samantha—shaking, whimpering, crying—tried to pull herself far from him; to shake her hair away from his fingers; but she couldn't escape him. He was too strong for her human body. Her thoughts revolved around confusion of what was happing, who the "good guys" were, and the single word _please_.

She was begging for anything—_anything, please, please just…oh, please_—that would just make it all go away. She wasn't suicidal but if that were an option I was certain she would end it with her life. She wasn't thinking about being saved, but if she knew it were possible, she would accept it. Anything was better than what was.

"Samantha, we're going to bring you back home," I promised her.

Her eyes met mine. Her tears came more quickly. Her thoughts of pleading slowed. I could see her picture home—her family; her friends; and the smashed picture on the floor. She was grateful for a glimpse of hope. I wasn't sure if she trusted my promise to be real, but at least her panic had subsided.

Alice plopped down on the ground and crossed her legs. She absent-mindedly drew pictures in the air with her fingers. She told me that Jasper would take him from behind and I would have to grab Samantha and take her somewhere that I could explain everything to her. I was leery of telling a mortal about the rules of immortality when it was strictly against the Volturi to have a human know our secret. It wasn't like we would be staying to keep an eye on Samantha either. Unless something in the one week Alice had forced us to stay would play a part in securing Samantha's secrecy.

Jasper did exactly as Alice predicted. Jasper shot me a look—to motion me into action—as Jasper skillfully removed the monster's arms from around Samantha. Jasper managed to keep Samantha from seeing the brutality of her rescue. I swept her into my arms—and her tear-streaked face turned bright red—and took her away.

Alice watched boredly as Jasper finished the monster off. I saw a vision of myself in her head as her saddened eyes suddenly met with the monster's terrified, angry red eyes. Alice saw me alone in her vision. She didn't like the lonesome expression on my face. She saw that I would become duller ever day, as if living so long was draining away all the good, lively parts of my soul.

I ignored her vision. I was who I was. If I was destined to be alone, then so be it. I wouldn't complain. After all, I wasn't alone. I had my family. I had Alice too look after my future, Jasper to watch my back, Carlisle to support me and advise me, Esme to mother and love me, Emmett to make me laugh, and Rosalie to learn to understand.

Rosalie was, all in all, the most like me. My saddest, darkest thoughts were the same that haunted her foremost thoughts. She had more problems than I had to sort through. If anything, she deserved to be pitied the most. Alice would need to learn to set her eyes on Rosalie rather than me. My future, blank or magnificent, would happen as it was meant to. I didn't need to be looked after.

It would be difficult to explain everything to Samantha, but hopefully she wouldn't be so afraid of what she was about to learn that we would have to…

I didn't want to think about that. We didn't kill humans. We protected them. We would not kill her. We would find another way. Alice had seen this all coming. She would have chosen the path that allowed Samantha to return to her normal—or semi-normal—life. I had to believe that.

I set Samantha down when we were near her house. She recognized the place. She rejoiced for a minute, but then she became suspicious. I wasn't leaving and I hadn't taken her directly to her home. What was I planning? She didn't know.

"Samantha, I am sorry your bore witness to such a horrible thing," I apologized.

"It's o-okay," she stuttered nervously. "C-can I go home now?"

I shook my head. "I need to explain what happened to you. I need you to keep this a secret—all of it—from everyone."

"He kidnapped me, you—and your cousins, I think—saved me," she stated. "There's nothing more I need to know."

I wanted to nod my head and let her go. But I knew that was only what she wanted to believe. She knew more; she suspected even more.

"You know it's more than that," I said reluctantly.

Her raised her hands and clenched her fingers around her ears. "Thanks for saving me, but I'm not listening anymore," she recited in too-high voice. "Goodbye."

She darted away, running as fast as she could at her human speed. I debated for a minute if this was what Alice wanted, but my instincts told me that I had to follow through.

I stopped in front of her and lightly pulled her to a stop. I released her shoulders the second she was stable. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Her eyes were wide with awe. I couldn't read any traces of fear in her mine; she was thinking of me as her savior again; and she thought I was an angel. I almost laughed at the idea of me being an angel.

Samantha, with her hair as bright as fire and her skin white as a ghost, was definitely a beautiful human. Her features were striking and she looked older than she was. She acted so shy and introverted that she could make herself look younger. But in that moment, she looked older, wiser, and much braver than the girl I had seen despairing in the church. She was less timid than the girl who had tried to console me when the ceremony had ended. It was as if she had never been kidnapped by the nameless vampire. She was just an inch below my height so when she stepped forward, I understood why her thoughts becoming an interrogation and the traces of fear and panic were all gone.

"Are you an angel?" she demanded, the awe never leaving her eyes.

"No." Out of her lips though, angel seemed less like the image of white wings, a harp, and bringing joy, but a warrior ready to defend innocence. I wished I fit the picture she was seeing when she asked the question. Maybe it would be easier to explain to her what I was if she hadn't put my efforts on a pedestal, somewhere up in the clouds.

"Do you save people often? Are you some kind of alien—like Superman?" she interrogated curiously. "Did you save me for some reason—like there's something you need me for? Are you from the government?"

"I am none of those things," I denied, sadly wishing only of those descriptions fit—aside from being an alien. "I wish I could say that I saved people often. I try, but it's better for me—and my kind—my family—if we separate ourselves from humans. I am not an alien, but I am not human."

I allowed her to absorb my words. More theories came to her, but she pushed them aside. She gave up guessing. Her eyes narrowed. "You're family isn't dead," she realized.

I shook my head and, guilty for the lie, I dropped my eyes. "They are safe in well, as my kind is all but immortal," I continued. "My family and I try not to be monsters, but we are, in nature, predators with humans as our prey."

A single thought of fear crossed her mind: Am I being traded around—are they fighting to eat me or something?—First that stranger and now Edward?

"I am not going to hurt you," I assured her.

She didn't believe me. She remembered the words the nameless vampire had whispered to her.

"He lied to you, and I'm sure he wished he wouldn't hurt you, but he was vicious and an absolute lunatic," I described, hoping her trust would come. "I want to return you to your life, but you've seen things that you could be killed for. I want to make sure that a certain group does not come after you to silence you."

She furrowed her brow and crossed her arms tightly against her chest. She shivered, as her nightgown was too thin for standing out in the open with a frosty wind.

"So you have some clean-up team," she guessed, "for anyone who finds out your secret? You want me to promise to keep quiet. And that's going to make me safe?"

I nodded. "It will. You can't tell anyone what happened tonight. Not even your most trusted friends; not your parents; not the man you marry; not your children."

She near the end, picturing me in dressed finely, standing by the alter, as she proceeded up in isle in her mother's wedding dress.

"So you're immortal, you have some secret-protector team, your family is good, mostly, those two aren't your cousins, and you're a vampire," she listed, shocking me with her calmness as she stated things I hadn't directly mentioned.

"Yes, Samantha," I admitted. "That's all true."

"Call me Sam," she insisted. "And I'll call you Edward, okay?"

I nodded. "Will you promise to keep the existence of our kind and the events of tonight a secret?"

She smiled timidly. "Sure, but under one condition," she bargained.

I didn't reply. Her condition was ridiculous. In her thoughts she was grave about the situation, about what she had learned, but she was choosing to be light-hearted and deal with the hand life had dealt her. I wasn't sure I could understand her request when she could ask for something else or be panicking—running and screaming—doing anything to escape the madness I had begun to explain to her.

"My condition is this: Edward, will you please ask me out on a date?" she requested. She wrung her hand nervously.

Reluctantly, I agreed. "Samantha—"

"That's Sam," she reminded me.

"Sam, would you go out on a date with me?" I asked generically. I would have explained that I had no interest in her, but that would be both rude and dangerous. I couldn't be sure she could keep our secret yet.

"Yes, I will," she cheered. "Tomorrow; it's Saturday, after all; no school."

"But I am a vampire," I said, nearing her, being my most frightening.

"R-right," she mumbled. She chewed her lip and stepped back. Her arms fell to her sides. She turned paler. Her snowy face colored under her high cheekbones. Her rosy lips paled. She was afraid of me, but that's wasn't affecting her decision. She had her mind set. I felt better about her will to keep our secret—but not definite. The shy Samantha was still in her and could be intimidated into spilling out words that should never be spoken by an unprotected human.

"I have more to explain to you," I confessed.

"S-so explain," she invited.

"You need warmer clothes," I noted aloud. I shrugged off my jacket and gave it to her as I led her forward, standing by her side. "I will take you back to your home. Sleep on this, don't tell anyone, and I will finish the explanation tomorrow."

Her eyes fixed on her house across the road and her feet moved quicker without her notice.

"On our date," she sighed, already dreaming of the magically moment I would kiss her. "Alright, rest assured, I will protect this secret. I haven't spilled a secret in my life. Oh!"

She stopped suddenly, in the middle of the street, and faced me. She held up her pinkie finger. "All pinkie swears are kept forever," she said, answering my unspoken question. "It's better than swearing in blood."

I smirked. Her heart had sped as she spoke, knowing the connection between blood and vampires. I raised my hand anyway, willing to do anything to protect her life, and anything to protect my family. I linked my pinkie with hers.

"I solemnly swear to keep the existence of vampires, the events of tonight, and the Cullen's secret locked in my mind, never to be spoken aloud to anyone—accept Edward Cullen," she swore.

"I solemnly swear to follow-through with our date if your promise holds," I replied.

She shied away from my touch then and raced to the front steps of her house. She faced me from the doorway as I stood on the sidewalk.

"Goodnight, Edward Cullen," she whispered shyly. Her faced went red again. _I've been waiting to say that for so long! Please, please, say it back…I've been praying for this moment…_

Unable to resist the _please_, I put on my most friendly smile and made my voice match my expression.

"Goodnight, Sam Rochester," I replied gently. Her smile could have lit up the whole street. It was so strange that a simple parting word could make her so happy.

Sam opened her door, twisting the knob. She felt relief that her father had forgotten to lock it. I would have gotten her back to her bed even it had been locked. Sam shut the door slowly behind her, her eyes never leaving mine.

I waited until she was safely in bed—after cleaning up the glass carefully; after placing the picture under her pillow; and after securely shutting her window, thinking of asking it to be permanently glued closed in the morning—before leaving.

I went to where Alice and Jasper were. They were trying to keep the purple smoke from travelling too far, in case someone was watching. Alice met my eyes and smiled. Yes, everything had gone according to plan. Samantha was destined to be victimized either way. It was either me or the nameless vampire.

I wondered who the nameless vampire was—what his name was. Alice, sensing my thoughts somehow pictured the scene of Sam's room before the monster had torn in. She focused on the picture in the frame that had been broken. I couldn't decipher what Alice meant by showing me the face at first. I studied the features for a long time, grasping at the memory of the photograph. It took me a long time, but I noticed the resemblance between the smiling, seemingly kind boy in the photo and the nameless vampire who was by then nothing but smoke drifting upward to touch the dark, bare sky.

* * *

_**Oh, about one week later…**_

_Edward…again…_

Sam was at the door again. I had explained everything to her on our date as agreed, but she had come to see me every day after that. She came in the morning before school and stayed late into the evening after school. Jasper told me she had a desperate need to prove her dependability to me and she had a heavy crush on me. Alice snickered and sang, over and over: _Edward and Sammy sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes LOVE then comes MARRIAGE then comes Edward with a baby carriage! _

I would stare at her coldly and she would giggle more.

_How cute. Sam looks like the kind of kid who would like adoption anyway_.

I rolled my eyes and ignored her thoughts. She would sing out loud then. Jasper would smile sympathetically at me.

I had to answer the door for the sixth time that day. Alice put her hand on my shoulder and I prepared for her to sing something humiliating and ridiculous. She had a serious expression though—and even more serious thoughts.

_We leave tomorrow morning, as the dawn breaks, or never. Tell her_, Alice ordered.

She slipped away, with Jasper trailing behind her. It was the same with Rosalie and Emmett. I couldn't understand the irresistible pull to be close together all the time or trailing after their strong-willed love. Even Esme and Carlisle were the same. If anything, I was lucky to not be hexed into a destiny involving a lover. I would be reduced to worshiping the ground she walked on rather than concentrating on protecting my family.

Sam was grinning ear to ear when I drew the door in. She stepped inside without an invitation. She had gotten so familiar to me and to the house. She didn't feel like a stranger anymore. It was all there in her thoughts. I worried that Alice told me to ruin Sam's devotion before it became unbearable to her if we left. I felt it was already too late. Alice had insisted on staying the week. I hoped her plan was still working.

"It's been a week and I haven't said a word," Sam reminded me. She had her hair down and it burned like fire over her back. "Do you trust me yet?"

"Yes," I said. I trusted her, certainly; but what about after I was gone? What about after I told her I would leave?

"Where's Alee and Jasper?" she asked, using a nickname for Alice that I didn't approve of. What was wrong with just _Alice_?

"Gone," I answered.

"Oh," she smirked. "So we have the house alone—all to ourselves—what a scandal that would be. If my father knew he would attempt to beat you with his belt…accept I think you could easily avoid it. He's a little slow."

"You could leave," I suggested. "There's no scandal if I'm here alone."

"And leave you lonely? I don't think so," she grinned. She was blushing again. "Besides all that, I like seeing you."

"I have things to do, packing," I mentioned, alluding to the sore topic.

"Packing what? Are you packing up more of your not-dead family's stuff to send them?" she guessed.

I frowned. "I never told you I sent their things to them."

"I'm very intuitive," she stated shyly. "And…there's something you're avoiding telling me—because it'll hurt my feelings…right? You're sweet, but it's better sooner than later, or else it might hurt more in long run. Momma always says that."

"I'm not packing their things, I'm packing mine," I clarified. "I'm leaving."

"On vacation?" she guessed. She knew there was more to it, but she didn't want my answer to be something painful to her. Already her heart had skipped a beat and her body was eerily still for a human.

"I'm leaving, and never coming back, not in your lifetime anyway," I explained. "Alice, Jasper, and I are leaving to meet up with our family."

Her body stiffened, all except for her legs, which collapsed under her. I caught her and she immediately shied away, moving to the couch. She covered her face with her hands and sat down, facing away from me.

I did feel guilty for burdening her, but I didn't understand the tears. Had she thought I would stay? That was illogical. I had no feelings for her.

The date was a very bad idea. I should have known it would encourage her want for company—with me in the allotted spot of someone to confide in—and it was mainly due to my ill-intention. I had been in it for my family and had trusted Alice that this was the only way.

Maybe it was, but poor Sam paid the price for it.

"Where are you leaving to?" Sam asked hoarsely.

"I can't tell you," I decided. It would hurt her more to have a chance at finding me.

"Another secret?" she laughed weakly. There were tears in her voice.

"Yes." I hoped Alice was happy with her directions, leaving a weeping girl with me as her core problem. "Please don't cry, Sam, this is how it must be. You'll get back into your normal life soon enough and you'll forget about us."

"I'll never forget," she vowed. Her voice had been quiet but it was strong. That worried me. Maybe she was as prone to obsession as the nameless vampire who pursued her had been.

"Fine, then we'll become less and less important over time," I edified.

She faced me with teary eyes and a determined expression set in her fair eyebrows. Her brownish-red eyelashes were soaked with tears also. I could smell the salt. She wasn't convinced that I would ever become less important, which was something that muddled me.

"I will always think of you," she told me, standing up from the couch—the only furniture piece remaining in the room. Esme's had taken her other furnishings with her—those she liked, anyway; the others were given away for charitable causes.

Sam put her arms around me and squeezed. It felt light to me. I pitied her for having feelings for someone who couldn't reciprocate the same intensity she felt. I hoped she found someone who would be kind to her, one day, some time. Surely a girl like her wasn't destined to be alone. Humans had less time so they lived more fiercely. They struggled for more; they loved for more; they cried; they loved; they bled; and they never succumbed to being alone for long. In my observation over the years of immortality, it was rare to see a human alone—more so to see a human alone who didn't want to find someone to connect to, even if it was at the uttermost back of their thoughts.

"I will keep your secret, Edward," she insisted. "I promised and I never go back on a promise…but, promise you'll think of me from time to time…okay?"

"I will," I lied. I was ashamed of myself for doing so, for lying straight to her face as if I were her friend, when really I was a devious snake, slithering out of a child's grip. If only she knew the fangs I hid; not that she could hide from the sting. I wouldn't think of her; and if she knew it would hurt her.

I could honestly say "It's not you, it's me," but I didn't. She wouldn't see the truth in that. She couldn't know that there would never be anyone in my life whose feelings would reflect mine entirely; there would be no human I could desire as fiercely as my love could desire; and that was a fact—that was destiny according to Alice—and there was nothing I could do to change it.

_Alice_

Jasper and I slipped into the room. Sam had just left. Edward had talked to her for a while, mentioning false reassurances her and there, promising our measures had guaranteed her safety, and then booted her out as warmly as possibly. Jasper had told me though that Edward regarded her somewhat coldly, as Edward didn't understand how she could think he meant something precious to her.

Edward didn't look up when we entered. Jasper studied him for a minute and I waited, peeking again into the future. I grasped for positive things, and ignored the boring everyday things—such as our trip in the morning, Emmett challenging Edward again, Carlisle going to work, Emmett challenging Jasper, and so on. I couldn't control the future though, so mostly all I saw was boring things. It was a good feeling to see no destruction would be in store for us anytime in the next ten or so years.

Edward strolled over to where his piano had been. Esme had taken it ahead of time, making Edward promise he would play for her the moment we returned to them. I had made Rosalie promise that she wouldn't buy (too many) new things until I arrived to assist her.

"You have no feelings for her," Jasper noted matter-of-factly. "Not even respect for her ability to love someone like you."

"What do you mean 'like me'?" Edward questioned quizzically.

Jasper shrugged. Edward put on his angry face (like someone had poked him in the nose continuously until he got fed up—oh, wait, did I do that last week?). He had read Jasper's mind. No doubt Edward was upset that Jasper had referred to him as a pessimistic, giver-upper-on-love type of person. And a scary blood-sucker; but that was the obvious one.

"You might find someone someday," I said to break the ice.

Edward shrugged. He didn't care either way. He didn't understand the feelings of someone in love, only the theory behind it.

"I think you'll probably turn the next family member—"

"No," Edward grumbled, cutting me off. He twisted his body and watched me with hard eyes.

"Sam wasn't your type; I get that; but maybe, one day, maybe you'll find some human as crazy in love with you as she was and—"

"No," Edward vowed. "I'm not fating anyone to this."

"What if you find someone—like how Carlisle found Esme?—or Rosalie found Emmett?"

He sighed, sadly, and when his features changed into someone less youthful, someone older; someone resigned to his fate. He closed his eyes and faced away from Jasper and I again.

"No," he said quietly.

"You don't think you're going to find someone," Jasper interpreted.

"That's not the point—"

"Good," I interrupted, "because I think you might get lucky."

"Which means—someone will get very unlucky," Edward translated morbidly, dropping his eyes.

I looked at Jasper. He didn't have an answer for me. Whatever he could feel in Edward's mood was unshakable. It would take something very drastic to change him.

"You might think differently in the future," I said.

"No."

"You might want to trust me on this one," I warned him. "I know a lot about the future."

* * *

**Sorry guys for being so late! I know I promise lots of people it would be sooner, but FINALS preoccupied my every waking moment. Plus running back and forth to the hospital. Yuck. AND THEN I COULDN'T LOAD THE CHAPTER. I tried and it wouldn't let me. Shucks. But here it is.**

**I know I said how many chapters it would be before, but I have a game plan now. The next chapter is already half written. There will be another chapter after that. Then, there will be an ending chapter to wrap it all up to the beginning of _Twilight_.**

**Please review.**


	16. Chapter 16: 10 Years

Ask Alice – the story of Mary Alice Brandon.

* * *

_"I had no path before, I was wandering," I explained. "I could see my future because I hadn't chosen to have a future. The instant I drank that bear's blood, I chose to have a future. So, now I do. And I can see it."_

* * *

**Chapter 16: 10 Years…is a long time**

_Jasper_

It had been ten years of living with new identities. It was time again to move before the town got suspicious and drove us away with pitchforks and crosses. I had struck the bargain with Jenks ten years earlier and now was the time for that deal to come to fruition.

The office had changed since I had been in it last. Edward and Alice were in the car outside—trying to outsmart each other in the number guessing game. So far Alice had won twice. She was getting better at blocking her mind from Edward—and as a matter of fact, so was I. Edward of course was frustrated by the very idea that we felt the need to practice blocking him out. He understood to a point, after all he did understand that even as close as we were, there was a need for a certain degree of privacy amongst even family. He still preferred being the one to control when he was a loud to listen and when he wasn't. Rosalie could care less about privacy when she blocked him out—she practiced constantly just for the sake of frustrating him.

Not that I could blame her. Rosalie wasn't one to appreciate closeness in that respect. There was no doubt in my mind that Rosalie felt very comfortable around her family, and she even considered Alice and I to be as equally a part of her as those who had been with her longer. Rosalie, in a strange way, was a little like me. Her ties came from the connections between people, the bonds, the emotional ties—and she had a fierce loyalty to her family that I could always feel from her, even when she was feuding with Emmett or kicking Edward out of her head. Rosalie wasn't into the sharing of personal thoughts or mental contact. She was a physical being whose bonds came from her heart. Mind reading was pushing her ability to be tender to the absolute limit.

Rosalie did have the capacity to be tender. I had felt that when she was around Emmett. I had felt it when Alice asked Rosalie to be her maid of honor. Rosalie had never been so selfless in her life when she doted on Alice, enforcing everything so that Alice would have a wedding to remember. Whether Rosalie had thought about the fact that the wedding involved me, I wasn't sure—and probably would never be sure—as she spent after waking second (which for a vampire was 24/7) giving Alice fantastical ideas. I barely spoke to Alice the whole time after she proposed to me. Rosalie always had her attention.

Jenks' office had changed in ten years—not that I had anticipated that. The ambiance was open, friendly. The walls were painted a pale, golden-yellow. The floors had been recently re-carpeted. The secretary was someone new. She had glasses that looked like she was staring out the bottom of coke bottles and sunshine-yellow hair that was tied up in a neat ponytail. She wore a suit and had a wedding band on her finger. I could feel that she felt frazzled—probably new to the job. She was very young, a recent graduate most likely. She had an easy smile on her cotton candy pink lips. Those who approached her, no matter what mood they seemed to be in, were instantly satisfied about any grievances and annoyances. Regardless of her credentials, she seemed like the perfect person to hire for a secretary in a busy, cramped office.

When I checked in with her and told her to alert Jenks to my presence immediately, she blushed but didn't have the same startled and near-swooning expression on her face that others of her age often had when I approached. I did see her double-check my own wedding band.

I waited close to Jenks' office door. I hear inside if I listened carefully and pushed the noises around me into the background.

"My son is in school, studying to become a lawyer," Jenks bragged excitedly. "He's making his old man proud. His mother would be proud." There was an audible pause. I could picture his eyes wandering to the picture of his family on the desk, fixating teary eyes on the image of his wife.

The secretary at the desk told me quickly that I could go in at any time. She knocked on Jenks' door once and then skirted away quickly down the hall with a memo in her hand.

I approached the door, but stood hesitantly outside, rudely eavesdropping on Jenks' conversation. Through the crack of the door I could see a woman standing next to Jenks.

The woman I remembered as the secretary, auburn hair cut short since the last I saw her, draped her arm over Jenk's shoulders. She had a ring on her ring finger. There was a picture of her and Jenks in matrimonial dress. The secretary had made for a pretty bride.

"I'm proud too," she said smilingly. "I've seen him grow up in these past years. He's really shown some maturity. He's the top of his class too."

"I've never been more proud," Jenks continued sadly, "but it's still so hard to tell him that."

The secretary—Mrs. Jenks, I assumed—rubbed his back consolingly. She was wearing dark dress pants and a pale, peach blouse. She wore a nametag that said her name was Sandra Jenks and she was a co-executive.

Jenks came to his office door with Sandra, not noticing me waiting on the other side. I stepped back as Mrs. Jenks kissed her husband's cheek and then took off at a casually walking pace down the hallway. She was calm, unworried, and didn't recognize me at all. I recognized her easily, despite the changes that time had made to her. She hadn't changed abnormally. Her face had laugh lines, her body was slenderer, and her eyes shone with less youth and more confidence.

Jenks had aged as well; more noticeably than his wife. He had thinning brown hair with grey mixed in. His wrinkles and his frail posture seemed signs of a long career induced with stress. He wore glasses and an expression of tenderness. He still wore a silk red tie.

"Mr. Jasper," Jenks exclaimed in surprise. The shock in his eyes showed that although he had expected me to appear again in ten years, he also did not expect me to appear exactly the same in appearance.

"May I come in?" I asked politely.

Jenks nodded and showed me in. He was still in shock.

There was a picture of Sandra and Jenks with the Grand Canyon behind them. Jenks' smile was beaming brighter than a spotlight searching for an actor on a dark stage. The difference was that there was no act occurring in the picture. It seemed as if a lifelong dream had been accomplished. I saw no sign of Jenks' son in the photo. The only photo with Jenks Jr. and Mr. Jenks together was the same old photograph that contained Jenks' first wife. The picture was behind the photo with Mrs. Sandra Jenks and Mr. Jenks on their wedding day. I noticed that also buried behind the wedding photo there was a photo of Jenks Jr. in high school graduation attire. Jenks Jr. seemed to have graduated not too soon before myself.

I removed a roll of bills from my pocket and threw it on the dark, mahogany desk. Jenks cocked a brow and stifled his surprise.

"I don't deal in dirty business anymore, Mr. Jasper," Jenks announced as he sat behind his desk. "But I will make this one last exception."

I nodded once. I had expected that. Alice had pre-warned me and had congratulated Jenks from the car about his turnaround from crooked-businessman to good-doer. It seemed his son had influenced him after all.

"A married man now, I see," Jenks noted. "Please accept my belated congratulations."

"To you as well," I congratulated.

Jenks smiled to himself. "Things have turned around for me thanks to her," Jenks revealed. I could feel great warmth and comfort from within him. The emotions coming from him were definitely from a healed heart. I could only imagine how devastated he was after his first wife had died. If only Carlisle had been able to save her.

I knew it wasn't Carlisle's fault of course. He had most likely beaten himself up enough, knowing how compassionate he was for preserving human life. I understood why Jenks had been so grateful—grateful enough to agree to help me once ten years had passed with no questions.

"How is Carlisle?" Jenks asked casually. "And the rest of your family?"

"Very well, thank you," I answered. It seemed too easy to be friendly with Jenks. Perhaps it was my respect for him, being a man who could hold his ground against a frightening vampire. Or maybe it was because of the comfort and warmth he exuded.

"You seem to have altered more than just your business practices," I commented, nodding my head at the Grand Canyon picture.

"Yes, that was a dream of mine, every since I heard of that wonderful slice into God's green earth," he chuckled. "Strange to see such a gigantic slice into the earth; unbelievable to imagine how it was created. I admit I'm terrified of heights, but it was almost like flying, standing next it."

"Interesting," I replied. "I've never been."

"You should someday," he recommended. "Nothing makes you feel more humble than seeing something with that degree of grandeur. We could all use touch of humility, I think."

I examined the picture again. Jenks had changed internally much more than externally. With age comes wisdom, as the saying goes, and there was a knowing quality to Jenks' eyes.

"May I ask you a personal question?" I asked curiously.

Jenks hesitated. He smiled. "Of course, son," he permitted.

I ignored the use of the word "son," seeing as I was much older than him and not his inferior. The changes had me curious. All change was curious for me. I couldn't change; not on the outside, at least—and it took so much to alter myself internally. It would take a change of grandeur.

"What was it that drove you to make all these changes?" I questioned. "Following through with a dream, making your practice clean, and…"—I nodded toward the picture of Jenks and Sandra—"among other things."

Jenks smiled broader. "What was it you said to me ten years ago? 'A man ready for change'," he quoted. "I was desperate for change. And they say when a door closes God opens a window. My wife was my window of opportunity and the courage to change came with that single bound. I just needed a little push."

I smiled in acknowledgement. I could understand what he meant. Alice had been like a guiding star leading me closer and closer to contentment as the years had passed. There was only one goal left for me at the moment—to learn to master my cravings and to forever lock up the monster inside of me. That was the final change I needed. I felt close, but every time I felt near enough to reach my goal it slipped away. Even now Jenks' blood-scent still burned my throat.

Jenks could see that I was uncomfortable—and perhaps mistook it for a sudden burst of impatience—and instantly slipped into businessman mode. "Now what exactly do you need this time around?"

I was relieved to be finished with small-talk. My will-power could only withstand so much one-on-one time with a human.

* * *

Once I had finished my business with Jenks—and I had agreed to meet with him three weeks later to collect—I left the office. On the way out, I ran into none other than Jenks Jr. He was a little older. He seemed to be in his mid-twenties. He wasn't very tall and he wasn't nearly as strong-willed as his father. He seemed to cringe at the very sight of me. His emotions showed that he must have a dim memory of seeing me ten years earlier. I knew it was a monstrous thought, but I enjoyed seeing him terrified of me. Cruel, yes, but after meeting with Jenks, it was nice to know that I still could intimate others if I wanted to. I wasn't used to running across people as strong and bold as Jenks.

I smiled at Jenks' son—maybe not as friendly as I should have been—and his eyes widened ever so slightly. I couldn't help it. I had feigned friendly many times over my years among humans but little Jenks Jr. was just too much of a temptation to not allow a little menace to my expression. Already I had a plan forming in my head as to what to do since Jenks had given up his life of forgeries. Maybe Jenks' son could be of some help in the future.

* * *

**Okay, not very long. I know, bear with me. It's better than nothing, right? It's just a tie-over into the next chapter. Plus, I wanted to inform y'all that Alice and Jasper did indeed get married at some point prior to the sixties, no worries. Also, how Jasper first began to get under the skin of the man that we know as J from Breaking Dawn. Finally, I like giving Rosalie kind traits. I don't like that Rosalie seems to be made the black sheep / bad guy all the time. Even in Breaking Dawn she seemed too hostile. I like to prove her innocence. Which is why, in the next chapter, we shall have another glance at why Rosalie acts like a b****. **

**REVIEW, DARLINGS!!!**

**I PRAY Y'ALL ARE HAVING A MOST MARVELOUS SUMMER!!!**


	17. Chapter 17: Like a Rose in Bloom

Ask Alice – the story of Mary Alice Brandon.

* * *

"You are a part of this family," Rosalie stated seriously. "I'd do anything for my family."

* * *

**Chapter 17: Like a Rose in Bloom**

_Exploring the events of September 13, 1987 _

* * *

_~ (Alice, Jasper, Rosalie, and Emmett watch The Terminator) In the Morning…_

_Rosalie_

"That is so not the future," Alice complained. "You can't travel back in through your _time teleportation device_ and walk up to some girl and tell her 'Hey, this is what's going to happen in the future'. Who would believe that? But Arnold sure makes on awesome robot-man. I can't wait for the sequel."

"You say that every time we watch this," Jasper commented in dull surprise.

"Are you saying there's a sequel in the making or have you already seen that there is going to be a sequel?" I questioned. My face was tight with trying to decipher Alice's spiel. At least as a never-aging vampire I didn't need to worry about getting wrinkles.

"Which answer would you like better?" Alice's eyes were wide with mock innocence.

I rolled my eyes. "Sometimes you can be quite annoying, Alice," I informed her.

I stood up from the couch and wandered away before my mind could become dull simply by hanging around simpletons watching movies with doomsday-based plots. Despite having forever to do whatever I wanted, wasting time just for the heck of it wasn't in my plans. I was in the mood for something interesting to happen and everyone else was happy to grow roots through the couch. Me, I rather grow wings and spread out. But since when do demons grow wings? All of us were doomed to shrink a little more each day; get locked up in a confined space; pretend to be comfortable as house pets rather than the wild and free beings we were meant to be. The modern world, although expanding cities and ideas, was making earth smaller. It was once such a wide, mysterious planet where you could hide so easily since there were so many places humans dare not go. There was no such place anymore.

I caught Emmett's eyes on me but paid him no attention. If he wanted to waste his brain power unconsciously memorizing movie lines then that's what he could do. I wasn't going to encourage him but I wouldn't deny him the right. I was probably in need of some alone time anyway. I had been in a gloomy mood for days.

I went out to the garage to pass some time; a chore to keep my hands busy and my mind working; but not busy enough to forget my mood. That's why I liked working in the garage. Cars can be fixed, altered, changed in almost every way from what they originally were. It was nice being able to see something change—something that belonged to me. In a way, since it was mine—since it was a part of me—didn't that mean that part of me was changing too?

* * *

_~ Later that day, in the afternoon…_

_Charlie Swan_

If there was one thing I liked the most about Forks—other than the people, the scenery, the fishing, and…well the list goes on—it would be the lack of traffic. If Forks had been a big city with fist waving people backed up behind an accident or a long red light, I would have never made it to the hospital in time. As it was, I wasn't the one to bring my wife to the hospital. Thank God for good neighbors.

I rushed through the hospital doors in frenzy. I was half crazy from excitement, half with nervousness, and half from embarrassment that I had been late. Well, I guess that's three halves…but that paints the picture a little better. I was so ruffled from the rush over that I nearly forgot the directions how to get there—even though I have lived in Forks all my life and had been born in that hospital for heaven's sake—never mind how many halves are in whole.

"My wife is in labor, I need to get in!" I exclaimed to the nurse behind the counter as rushed to the desk, half collapsing in an anxiety meltdown.

"I'm sorry, her name is…?" the nurse asked. She'd known me for how many years and she still didn't seem to know my name or my wife's.

"Renee Swan," I reminded her anxiously. Renee was going to let me have it afterwards about being late. It wasn't my fault the first corner store robbery in the history of Forks happened to occur the exact day my wife was going to have a baby. That was God having a sense of humor.

"I'll try to sneak you in," the nurse said smilingly. She came around from the counter and I followed behind her impatiently.

So many things were flooding my thoughts. I wondered what she would look like—not Renee but my daughter—although I wondered if Renee would look over exasperated or happy or like women look like in movies with the grunting and the hectic laughter and the random spurts of anger and other things that movies do to make the birthing scene dramatic. I just hoped she wouldn't be pissed at me.

I couldn't wait to introduce my parents to my little angel. They weren't in the best health, and my father probably wouldn't remember her the next time they met, but at least my child would remember them.

I was worried of course about being a good father. I didn't know if I was cut out for the job. I swore to Renee and to myself that I was. Nervousness was just overwhelming me. I wondered how long it would be before she smiled at me. I wondered if she would be pretty like her mother—of course she would. How could I even be thinking about such things! She was going to be the most beautiful little baby in the whole wide world.

* * *

_Rosalie_

I heard Edward come in, but I wasn't in the mood to talk. He stood hovering over me for quite a while just for the heck of it. I was quite sure he was there for the sake of irritating me. With the best intentions of course.

"What do you want, Edward?" I groaned, slipping out from under my Ferrari F40. I had a little grease on me and wasn't in the mood to entertain. I was in the mood to work.

"You were brooding," he told me. "I can't simply ignore your thoughts when they're so dire and dare I say suicidal."

"God, Edward, do have any idea how extraordinarily tedious you can be?" I grumbled. "If you're so bored that you want to play 'Let's make Rosalie happy,' then you need to get a new hobby. I'm perfectly fine."

"I don't know why you find it necessary to lie to me like that," he said with sad eyes. His voice was full of concern for me. In my own mind I could admit how sweet it was—how precious it was that he cared for me—that his brotherly affection never expired despite the difficulty of dealing with me. Outside my mind I could only glare and flaunt my mock superiority.

"I can you're your mind, you know," he reminded me unnecessarily.

"Yes, and I wish you wouldn't," I hissed.

Edward sighed. "You make me worry."

I turned away from him, hiding my face instinctively, not wanting to show that I cared. "Like I said, you need to get a new hobby. I don't need your concern."

I could feel Edward's eyes piercing into me. I hated the feeling of him peeking around inside my head. Even more so, it felt like he was sneaking inside my heart, digging up things that were meant to remain buried. With Edward though, everything came to the surface, whether he wanted it to or not.

"You worry Emmett too."

I shut my eyes tight. I could feel the sting of impossible tears. "I know," I said in a small, small voice.

Edward tilted his head. "You really think you're close, huh?"

Damn mind reader. "Yes. I think in time I will be fine. I really do believe that. Just a little bit longer…"

Edward smiled sweetly. "You do seem to be depressed less and less lately."

I laughed. "Lately…? _Lately_ has been the past decade," I wailed. "Why should I waste so much time? Even if I have forever…I don't want to linger over that thought, so never mind. Talking to you is always such a bother."

I turned my back away to hide from his knowing grin. He knew that the only reason talking to him bothered me was because he knew the things that bothered me the most and had some psychotic optimistic streak that made him think it was possible for me to overcome all my hatred of the thing I was. Edward seemed to believe I would one day be okay with being a bloody vampire and he was convincing me of his crazy way of thinking more and more each day. Somewhere along the way, with all of Edward's prying through my thoughts—revealing truths to me that even I couldn't see—and Emmett being a comfort that a horrid, shallow person like me didn't deserve…somewhere along the way I started to believe there was a time that everything would be okay. I was beginning to think that happiness was in reach.

What a stupid dream. I rolled my eyes. He chuckled.

"Okay, I'm not depressed anymore," I assured him. "You can go away now."

"My pleasure," he smirked.

I waited for him to go, but he didn't. I felt something in the mood twist and change.

"Don't tell me I've infected you with my pessimism?" I joked.

Edward didn't respond. I faced him and stared into his serious expression. He had something to say but was suddenly acting shy.

"Spit it out," I encouraged. "You listen to everyone"—_whether you want to or not_—"so isn't it only fair if someone listens to you?"

Edward smiled slightly, still seeming distant in a way that only he could—in a way that made him always seem like he was reaching to be closer to the ground but his grip kept slipping away. Edward wasn't grounded like the rest of our family was. Just like me, he was struggling for a glimpse of a bright sun in a dark night. We had managed to secure stars in our world—our family—and for me I finally was able to stare into the sun without going blind. Edward was still wandering blind though. I had Emmett to guide me through. I had my family to support me even when my wildest cruelest nature took over. Edward still didn't find enough in us to hold him steady. I wished there was something I could do for him to make him realize that it wasn't me who deserved to be happy. He deserved it too.

"There's nothing to listen to," he lied through his teeth. Edward was a wonderful liar. He could convince any lie specialist or lie detector or common person. But as a member of Edward's family, I had been by his side to be fooled.

"If I could read your mind, Edward, would I be very disappointed by the lie you've just told? Is the truth so opposite of what you've just said that you have to lie?" I accused.

Edward dropped his gaze. "Your right, I am lying. I'm not fine. I feel like I need to complain a little. But I won't. I think I just need a distraction."

"Suit yourself then." I shrugged. He could do whatever the hell he wanted to avoid speaking his mind. Someday it was going to come out.

"Hey, Rose," Edward mumbled nervously. "Has today felt…different…to you…at all…?"

I was a little fumbled by his statement. Edward was usually so smooth and usually kept his calm. Something was bugging him about the _day_? Was it the anniversary of something? Was it supposed to my birthday and that's why he thought I would feel different? Was it his birthday? Had a comet fallen from the sky and hit me in the head yesterday and I forgot about it and thus should feel different because of the incident? Or was I overanalyzing the whole situation? Maybe Edward just felt different.

"Maybe it's a sign, Edward," I suggested. "You should get a new hobby. That's what today means."

Edward chuckled and left without another word. Sometimes I had no idea what was going on in that head of his.

* * *

_Charlie Swan_

"Isabella Marie Swan," I repeated. I was never going to get tired of that name and the beautiful baby face that the name belonged to. "Aw, Renee, she's beautiful."

"You've said that about thousand times already," Renee grinned. "But it's true. Look at her! She's just too cute! Although she has the same chin as your Uncle Sean and I don't really like him all too much."

"Renee!" I exclaimed.

"Actually…now that I inspect a little closer, it looks more like mine," she corrected. "Okay, she's got a cute chin."

"You always said you liked Uncle Sean," I pouted. "He always liked you. He's always talking about how he likes your apple-raspberry-cinnamon-raison pie; although I don't know why…it's not exactly the most…digestible creation."

"Charlie, let's just concentrate on Isabella today, okay?" Renee snapped. "I'm really tired and I don't want to talk about pie. Especially not pie that you are criticizing."

"I'm sorry," I apologized. I kissed her forehead…and then my precious daughter's… "You two match."

Renee laughed. "She looked like a vampire when she came out though," she jested. "She's so pale the doctors were a little worried. But she's fine. Nothing that love and a mother's milk—and vitamins—can't handle."

I chuckled to myself. Renee gave me a dirty look.

"What?"

"Nothing," I smirked. "I can't believe she hasn't been around for three hours yet and you've called her a vampire."

"Well she had all that blood all over her and she was pale and the way she squirmed when they washed her off it was almost like she liked having all the gunk and blood on her," Renee reasoned.

"That's because it was warmer with that all over her," I explained. "The water was a little cold. I was surprised that the nurse didn't use warmer water."

"Oh, forget that! She's a perfectly healthy _non-vampire_ baby!" Renee exclaimed. "And I will never call our daughter a vampire again, okay? I'll stick with albino."

"Because that's so much better," I snorted.

"Don't argue with me today, Charlie," she sighed agitatedly. "I'm tired."

I nodded and shut my mouth. I hated to admit it, but I had hoped all the arguing would stop once Isabella was born. Maybe the hormones were still affecting her. We had started fighting like cats and dogs ever since she got pregnant.

"Hey, Charlie," Renee whispered, her eyes closed loosely and her hair disheveled, like Sleeping Beauty stirring from her slumber. "Do you think she'd like to go somewhere warm and sunny for a big family vacation? Is she the type to like Disneyland? Do you think she'll go away to school?"

"Renee, honey, she's three hours old," I reminded my lovely wife. I caressed her warm cheeks, glowing with happiness and excitement—glowing like the sun under my fingertips. "Let's wait before we try to plan out her whole future, okay?"

"Okay," she giggled.

I kissed my wife on the lips. Her smile fell suddenly. Her eyes shot open and her expression was very solemn.

"Do you think she'll like me?" she asked seriously.

"Of course, Renee," I promised. "She is going to love you. More and more each day, she'll love you. It's the same with me after all. More and more each day, I love you. Isabella definitely inherited the 'I love Renee for always' gene from me."

She smiled warmly and touched her hand to my face. She glowed even more. Isabella was wrapped in her other arm, sleeping against her chest. "She's going to love you too."

I was still a little teary-eyed and the thought of my precious little Isabella reaching for me with her tiny little hands and telling me she loved me…that definitely made my eyes spill over.

"Do you think she'll like it here?" Renee asked finally, closing her eyes again.

"I'm sure she inherited that gene from us too."

"From you," she corrected.

* * *

_Alice_

"I think it's pretty quiet tonight," I sighed. "I wonder if something important is happening somewhere on the other side of the world. Maybe a storm is coming."

"I wouldn't know," Jasper said smilingly. "I'm not psychic."

I giggled. "Well I am, but that doesn't mean I know everything. I just get a feeling that's something's happened. Maybe that sequel is finally coming."

"Maybe the world's about to come to an end," Rosalie guessed. "We could be sitting here waiting for the world to end and not even know it."

"I think I would see something as big as that," I snorted.

"Maybe it's not something big at all," Rosalie mumbled. "Maybe the end of everything is something very insignificant."

"Rose has decided it is opposite day today, I see," I whispered to Jasper.

"Never mind," Rose growled. She stood up from the grass and stalked off angrily.

"I'm going after her," I announced. I pounced along after her trail. She went pretty far. I didn't say a word to her until her stopped.

Rosalie peered up at the sky, shimmering with quivering diamonds and shades of black and blue. It was like the sky was bruised. And then there was the stars covering the bruised sky, making it beautiful. I wondered if anyone would ever gaze up at the sky if it was only the moon alone up there. It would be very lonely during the night if there were no stars.

"Is it hard not remembering your past?" Rosalie questioned.

I shrugged. "Sometimes, but I have a future to make up for it. Even if I had my past I don't think I'd be better off. I think I'd be the same."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "I wish I could trade with you," she admitted shyly. "I know it's selfish of me to say, since it's probably a sensitive topic for you. I can't help but think it would be easier to deal with being what I am if the memories I what I was would stop following me like shadows."

I knew I couldn't have been happy or excited hearing her words and her regrets, but it was the first time she had been so open with me. I really felt trusted.

"Do you want to know your past anymore, Alice?"

"Nope," I answered truthfully. "I am entirely satisfied with what I have. I have a lot to be grateful for. Why ask for more? You, too, have a lot to be thankful for, right, Rose?"

She laughed half-heartedly. "I do. I am very happy with what I have. I have a sister whose cheeriness never fails to both annoy me and excite me; brothers who go out of their way to make me smile when my gloom is made known to them; parents who love me just as much and maybe more than my birth parents did; and to top it off I have a big oaf who follows me around like a puppy wanting me to notice him. I do notice him, of course. Emmett is the sweetest. Who could ask for anything more…?"

She sighed and all traces of the façade were gone. She faced me with sorrowful eyes—guilty eyes—and a deep frown.

"Tell me Alice; tell me honestly, do you think I am selfish?" Her eyes fixated on mine. She wasn't going to let me tell her any sweet little lies to boost her ego.

"No. I think you're stupid."

Anger and hurt flared in her eyes. "You think what…?"

"Rosalie, you know you have the perfect life for your perfect princess self and you know you should be happy with it and you know you love it and you know you're surrounded by people who love you—and one puppy who adores who and follows you around—to top it off," I listed. "Now, forget the things your regret from your past. Only a complete idiot would be unable to see that you're trying to be happy with what you've got. Stopping trying and just do, Rosalie; just let yourself be happy."

"It's not that easy," she pouted.

I shrugged. "I answered your question. So, please, don't hate me for my opinion, because I love you, and I just think that you deserve to let go of being regretful. Be a happy vampire."

Rosalie's eyes narrowed on me. She clearly was annoyed at me. I wasn't worried though. I told her what she wanted to hear. It was her choice if she liked the sound of it or not. Sooner or later she would accept herself as she was.

"Alice, one more thing," Rosalie piped. "I know I didn't give off the impression of liking you—when we first met—and I'm not very good at being nice to people…but I want to let you know, I love you too, Alice."

I couldn't help but smile. "I knew you'd say that."

She rolled her eyes. "I think we all get that you know everything by now Alice."

"I knew you were going to say it, but it's still so very nice hearing it," I amended. "Knowing something will happen isn't the same as something happening."

Rosalie sighed. "You're weird Alice."

"Thank you."

* * *

~2004

_Bella_

The most memorable of all my memories of Forks starts with the front door. I can remember tears streaking down Renee's face. I can remember that it was the first time I had seen both of my parents crying. Charlie was trying to be the calm one; he tried to be the voice of reason. Renee of course had never been a rational person. She kept shouting about how much she hated Forks. She hated the rain. She hated her life. She needed an escape that couldn't be found in that miserable town. Maybe that's why all my childhood memories of Forks are miserable. I can't shake my mother's words from my head.

When I look outside the window of Charlie's house, I want to see the sun pouring down so hot that it melts the pavement and makes the grass light with fire. I don't see that. I see rain. I hear my mother say "I'll go crazy here, Charlie," and I can't bear to stare outside any longer. Charlie—my dad—he always tries to encourage me to have fun in Forks. That isn't possible though. He loves Forks. I hate it. But one man's trash is another's treasure, right? Well Forks was the treasure of Charlie Swan. It was just a dull summer vacation to me.

"_Just let me go, Charlie." _Those were words I associated with the fishing trips that Charlie insisted on taking me on. I got along well enough with the daughter of Charlie's fishing buddy, but it was just miserable. Was there no other activity that my father knew how to do with a young girl? Fish were stinky and gross. I didn't like their eyes. Not to mention that I became petrified of the hooks after Charlie's fishing friend stuck himself in the leg the second time I tagged along.

"_It didn't work out, okay? I really, really _hate_ Forks!"_

Those words were always ringing in my head. It was all I could think about when the smell of the rain hit my nostrils. It was disgusting. How could a place smell so much of rain, earthworms, and that horrible small-town smell that was so different and so much smaller than a city? Somehow I missed the smell that was toxic and clogged—the city smell. The clear air was like poison to me.

One thing was clear. I would never grow to love Forks. I just didn't know how to tell Charlie that at the time. Now that I've decided to send myself there—to doom myself to the smell of rain and the ridicule of a new student body—I'd like to find something to love about it. I know it's impossible but I'd still like to try, for Charlie's sake. We'd never been close but he'd always loved me. I could tell he wanted to be close but didn't know how. I couldn't deny that I loved him too. So if I found something to love about Forks it would make Charlie happy and keep my sanity. It will kill two birds with one stone.

But what was there to love about Forks? The most uninteresting place with the most uninteresting people; a place I had imprisoned myself. There was no way I'd ever find something appealing about Forks.

* * *

_**Thank you for reading this story of mine. All characters of course belong to Stephenie Meyer and the information to build the story I got from the Twilight Lexicon. REVIEW‼! The last chapter is this one. Sorry to disappoint anyone who expected more. I hope you enjoyed some part of it‼!**_

_**READ TWILIGHT.**_


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